Six attempts to haiku

(detail from a painting by G. Richter)

Winter solstice—/

the light of color black

our recurrence.

Turning tides—/

placing polished pebbles/

back under water.

Winter holds—/

I force the last hot drops/

from this teabag.

Of the tall tree/

growing from my worst writings/

—talk to me.

Summer solstice—/

long forgotten snowflakes/

melt in my palm.

My gravestone—/

flocks of migrating butterflies/

cover the by-dates.