A haiku, and a poem

June. (Or, Of The Honeylocust.)
Dry rain, showering 
From a tree. Bees hover, drink.
Parched buds in my hair.

Heartstrings
So many people
I long to embrace
one last time.
To hold their firm 
shoulders,
their fluttering
hearts,
their shining
souls.
I long to just
one 
more
time
know their 
shattered hopes,
and their
growing dreams.
I long to 
once 
again
laugh with them
during their 
greatest triumphs,
and to weep
beside them
when they have
fallen far.
Now,
I can only 
watch,
Soul-yearning
from a distance,
tugged along
a shimmering string
leading from their
hearts
to mine.
I attached it
long ado,
before it was 
painful, 
back when we
were best-friends.
We are best friends 
no longer,
the string 
pulls me forward, 
relentlessly,
tortuously,
never
letting 
me
close
enough
to
touch.