Time for another round-up of my recent Haiku! (Here is an explanation of why I’ve been writing and posting haiku.)
A startle of wet
briskly awakens my skin.
I am thinking flesh.
The willow droops black
against a lavender sky,
a still precipice.
Dripping, drooping, weak.
The skin and the rain: both grey.
An unrestful sleep.
In early dimness,
a quiet, unmoving sky
chills, waiting for dusk.
Waiting in the cold,
trying not to let my mind
rush when all is calm.
Returning, the cold
breaks against the bedroom glass.
Wild-eyed, the cats watch.
Afternoon, evening,
merge as the sky stops dancing,
parting from the clock.
Exactly Dianne. The ICE genocide is another patriarchal measure to strip women of their rights, their freedom and very often,…