Haiku by Thomas Page

A litany of
Purple wildflowers on
The concrete island.

Knights of yore wore masks
To protect themselves from strikes
From their foes unknown.

The rain poured purple—
The lighting thunder gray—
The sky shaded black.

The salamanders
Under the rocks with mother—
Micro-firmament.

The puzzle disjointed—
A million bits of soul—
Each color indistinct.

The year, a vulture—
Its head stinking of gore-rot
And covered in blood.

The cherry-blossom
Grove sat alone on the banks—
Time primordial.

The heat of the daytime
Sun beats down on me harshly—
Nature’s crucible.

An old road traversed
Once more in a litany
Of days stuck at home.

The ornate birdcage
Sat alone in the sunroom—
Birdsongs through windows.

The air feels like rain—
Hoping that after I come
Inside the deluge.