Friday haiku 34

This is your brain on haiku.

Learn to love sparrows
they said. I did.
Now there’s love on every corner.

Learn to love sparrows
they said. I did.
Now there are starlings.

Learn to love sparrows
they said. I did.
But so did the kestrel.

Learn to love sparrows
they said. I did.
They are jealous lovers.

Learn to love sparrows
they said. I did.
They’re building a condo in the rose garden.

The old country

They say in the old country
that lighthouses are for keepers;
better make your own way.
They say eyes are like knives piercing your heart;
better stay low and move fast.

They say in the old country
that hopes are like lovers;
better check your promises.
They say dreams are fragile
and fall from heads like autumn leaves;
better watch your step.

They say shelter is for beggars;
better nail your secrets to the wall.

Occasionally, in winter

Occasionally, in winter
I take a turn into some vast space
–an empty parking lot, a parade field–
shorn of summer frippery

and I’m there again, there
where each single blade of grass vibrates,
where every grain of sand trembles
and the sun,

terrible in its wintry beauty,
fights back the clouds,
never mind their insistence
on seasonal priority.

Hard to stay home on such days,
all the triviality of existence
concentrated in a mote of dust
poised by the window,

ready to make a run for it,
unaware of the relentless
inescapability of it.