Tortured Haikuist

(spring 2024)

what’s going on here?

grass is green, bushes in bloom

as if life matters

ocean of blossoms

billows a high cherry tide

barest feet wade in

beautiful eclipse–

tulips still striving, like kids

as caught in the gray

doors and flowers, quite

hard, their sketching. openings,

roots. in own season

cat blocks me on stairs

wanting, i guess, attention

not my karmic fate

see the drying out

gray goes to green again; not

just beholder’s eye

so seasons repeat

themselves regardless our tight

schedules, commands

we’re not what we were

but, really: were we ever?

cats scratch, thin trees moan

i want daffodils

planted in corners, fence-side

to ease next year’s spring

incandescently

you draw, fly me further on,

in. pause to dry wings