Will the wind calm tonight or will rain lash
through black billows, and pillows thrash,
embattled as shutters rattle, and the attic lists
and creaks? Night is fierce when the wind is,
and the soft sounds are silenced by the thunder
of elemental din. Rain falls, groundwater rises,
and in-between the moat fills, surrounding
stone walls with water, primitive, and no boat
to float us through the ocean of the night.
Perhaps instead, we will ride the trembling
air, buoyed up on billowing, pillowed sails
and the feathered questioning of an owl.
Mist falls and lies and seeps where sun should
shine and fill the damp spaces with glitter.
Cold clings to cottony seedpods
spider-webbed with droplets, while
birds squabble for crumbs or distant call
among the black trees, singing up the change.
We watch the unchanged, the hanging, falling
mist mixed with cloud, and the cold digs deeper.
Only I wait; earth, birds, mist, silent shoots
and roots stir, strive, uncoil, too busy being.
A haiku sequence for this last morning of March.
by the river
first swallows skim—summer
in their wings
last tranquil morning
before the rain and meadow
tidal wave of growth
so green these mornings
of silver dew and sunlight
and squirrels leaping
snail hunting in the grass
damp with night
A March haibun for the dverse prompt.
Wind blows, bends the trees, still leafless but greening or white with blossom, roars in the chimney and rattles shutters. On the meadow’s edge, the hares race and the deer rest sniffing the scents of new life coming. Clouds bowl on the back of the west wind, sky washed pale blue, fresh as the salt sea, and the trailing threads of geese and cranes gone a-viking shout their joyful homecoming songs.
foam beaten by the wind
spring tide running high