a few haiku

because sleep is close to death 

I’m an iamb

a blackbird drinks from the pothole first crocus

to find my purpose google blackbirds say no

magically repairs vinyl and the color of asters

my soft horns 

poking through 

wisteria

any other metal would tarnish some sunny afternoon

how long the grass holds her breath

tracks to stay warm in the hollow moon

sunrise 

a generation of fruit 

flies

blueberries because he dies on every page