as if a cherry pit were stuck in the throat

When I hit lull here I look at what posted here same time every year 
my lulls have seasons. Wise some to calendar's whys my feints don't not work
I am typing this poem for example re: this is me each late June
Haiku standard sign seventeen by seventeen sheeyit seventeen?
my square rectangled on digital tablet bray, this is how I mope

               
My wife and daughter teachers, my parents teachers, aunts, uncles, teachers 
me, mite, thirty years at a university servicing teachers
Academic Years your junior year your senior year universes
wormholed but quadrant apart, it's hard on teachers all I want to say
this mostest late June since the last most June until next year's moster June






HIDDEN BIRD

Joseph Ceravolo

Song birds enter the morning
the pre-dawn before the fires,
you know, when the night floats away
like vapor on a lake,
or like kisses in the woods.
Songs that even creation
might not remember.
           
Continuous, threaded, as if
a cherry pit were stuck
in the throat
to produce the trumpet of the branches.
So varies, yet never, changing
through all the days, since
reptiles fell to earth.
             
I give up the reason for the sound
I give up the creature of sound
and the creator of the creatures
and of us and of dawn and
air and of vacuum
and human inhumanity.
I give up the song.
I give up the place.