Afternoon recedes towards evening, but the weather remains undecided. Patches of blue are visible through brooding clouds, though the sunbeams fall elsewhere. Humidity pervades everything; each breath has a heaviness, each touch, a stickiness. Its cloying blanket compels stillness and muffles sound.

a thoughtful silence
our pet rat’s new-born young
vanish overnight

Nearby, a group of crows are arguing with a gull. Their voices mimic a machine in desperate need of lubrication. Harsh enough to prompt a headache. I reach for my coffee. Somehow it has cooled below room temperature. A fine skin of petrol-like iridescence has formed. Time for a refill. Maybe a clean cup.

before a click
the chaos of water
liquid, vapour, steam

I ladle rusty powder into a sturdy mug. There’s no milk, so a spoonful of sugar goes in too. I need something more to mask the bitter edge. No biscuits, only oatcakes. They’ll do. Must get out—top up supplies—everything’s running low.

Back in the sitting room nothing has changed. The cat raises an ear as scraping slippers pass nearby, but it doesn’t uncurl. I ease back into the deep depression of an overstuffed easy chair and burn my mouth with an incautious sip.

autumn equinox
on the kitchen windowsill
a living stone blooms

David J. Kelly

is an ecologist based in Dublin, Ireland. His haiku and related poetic genres have been widely published. His interests may be best summarised as birds and words. David’s second collection, Small Hadron Divider (Red Moon Press), received an Honorable Mention in the 2020 Touchstone Distinguished Books Awards.

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Attar of Roses, haibun by Kelly in contemporary haibun online (16:2, August 2020)

⚡ Chernobyl is currently 1.00008150762% safe, haibun by Kelly in KYSO Flash (Issue 10, Fall 2018)