This Dark Can't Be Lit

My heart is heavy;
The bright sun can't help me now;
This dark can't be lit.


Forsythia husks
As distant from yellow sprays
As then is from now.

Acrid wood smoke smell
Brings memories of winters
In the midst of this.


Silver filament
Peeks out of the milk weed husk
Still biding its time.


Bottom of mailbox
The house number has fallen.
Who will know the house?


Patches of bright green
Thrive in the frozen brown woods.
What is their secret?


Two new stump buddies
That I've missed for all these years;
Ten feet off the road.

At end of my walk
I look at my first haiku--
Very long ago.