(More or less than) Seventeen.

Looks like I’ve missed keeping up my haiku column… it’s going to be a two-parts update!
Here we go with the first batch of lonely syllables!

migraine –
my mother’s voice
over a snowflake

just can’t catch
those falling leaves –
can’t grasp them

windflowers –
the softness from your skin
long gone

bare branches…
so much thinner
than the trunk

deep blue…
the other face
of a waxing crescent

low tide
unveiling a shell
and a memory

temperature –
observing every little move
of butterflies

the longest night –
my singing voice reaching
for Aldebaran


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