Valentine Haiku

A February

Morning. Dawn does not bring love,

Only the roosters.

The clouds are so gray,

So even, they close the sky,

Contain light's struggles.

The rain does not wait.

It washes young buds from trees

Before April's bloom.

A jogger runs, heart

On her shirt. She runs for heart's

Sake or for her love?

A February 

Night. Lovers walk in their rain.

The day is over.

What Do You Do With Not-Meant-To-Bes?

 

Do you plant them between sun and moon

Far from urban cats' howling grounds

And desecrated December architectures?

Do you shove them onto the top shelf

Of your tallest closet so that next July

When you move again, you will forget them?

Do you take them to Septembered crypts

In the forest where only chipmunks crawl

To die after a short but furious life?

Do you press them between August pages

Of a cookbook, dried and secreted

To sprinkle along with might-have-beens?

Do you line them along your fence facing

April's daily street, watched by children 

Who have sprung from freshly sowed sidewalks?

Or do you leave them where they rest,

Like crumbs left by old men to feed

Young birds in blue arboretums in March?