Pandemic Haiku

by Paul Bone

Dogs pull up
short at the sheer cliff
face of the edged lawn.

The nest this
hatchet-headed cardinal
curates tumbles from
the bonsaied rose bush.

Once the robins fledged and flew,
St Kevin stood there
until his hand was cold again.

The bumblebee’s drone
shakes pollen from the pinched
dome of the noontime columbine.

Rain spills from the gutters
and the houses
blink behind their curtains.

The choir resumes
the requiem and the postponed
singers again breathe
with the dying.

Wind blows maple seeds
down the street in light

Paul Bone is the author of Nostalgia for Sacrifice and has published poems in The Hopkins Review, 32 Poems, The Birmingham Poetry Review, The Southern Poetry Review, and other journals. He lives in southwest Indiana and is Co-Editor of Measure Press. You can find him online at and on Twitter @PaulBone1.