THREE SPRING HAIKU

 

 

At the house of seven squirrels
old snow sits hard, cold,
robins sing brittle.

I sit sorrowing:
my people’s god is bitter.
And O, geese flying!

Some god rooted here,
poured his blood on broken ground–
new grass is growing.

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WINTER HAIKU

Soft white cat, pink ears.
restless, purring on my lap.
Outside, sleet falls slow.

Drops of broken rain.
Walk with me on frozen tears:
ice pregnant with light.

I can’t undo deeds
I did, nor redo deeds done.
Grant me grace to grow.