In the equation.
Forever the seeker,
I hid from
fate
for once, whispering
“please don’t find me.”
Forearm-over-eyes
count
to twenty-two.
“Ready or not-”
Behind tree,
the split branch,
I tread in
father’s garden
“Here I come!”
Aggressive,
as boys tend to be.
Wheelbarrow &
scapegoat.
Likewise, they speak
of growing
in brutal tones,
a moral sin to know such
things.
“Whose fault is it,
then?
I didn’t act on it.”
To collect the
shards
of Robin’s nest,
runny
through slit
fingers.
Saltiness.
A potential
family,
scrambled.
My limb extends,
like his
reflex, a boat
in storm,
smacking moor
of forehead.
She swore,
“Never again.”
And even through
all the years
I spoke atrocities
upon him.
A vociferous
pitchfork tongue
chainsaw,
bitter as scorched.
Teething his
bark,
overheard
while in the garden,
that nest,
already shattered.
I was only finding then
pieces
of what’s been
broken,
a jigsaw of
flash
which made the
sun.
We won’t know
our star
has burnt out
until countless years
after,
& much like that
child
in garden.
By then, it will be
far too gone
for any
number of appendages
to resurrect
a
yolk
which has
bled
from its shell.
Haiku on Haiku
A Haiku is hard
to write, because you often
run out of syllab–