Category: Issue 03

over the rise most likely more goldenrod

Alone the cell phone on her bed rings

“Barnes & Noble” — in all the round letters bird nests

desert wind the potter’s fingerprints impressed on an ancient urn

water colours the artist dips her brush into a stream

three sparrows bend the top of the young pear tree looming sunflower

the still pond a frog jumps in Gulp!

cicada song the bandshell empty

howling wind the red kite sprawled on the sandy shore

clouded night faint stars surface in the bow wave

boulder the rock art of lichens

hailstones click on the window tv snow

Sunday afternoon . . . I help my neighbor take her top down

my grandfather’s portrait recognizing that look in my daughter

crash the bicycle wheel still spinning

rain at last the white egret dances through the shallows

long summer day two little girls looking up through the leaves

shaft of moonlight. the silence between us atop the lifeguard’s chair

the crane highsteps carefully a shaded marsh

life model performs stillness

outside the hospital the nurses take a drag moon almost full

late summer descending into her jeans a celtic tattoo

summer fun folds up in a truck– ferris wheel

sudden rainshowers- the street vendor changes the sign RED ROSES ON SALE

after the rain tall grass drowning in puddles

white cat in a window– almost a statue

lake by the hotel canada geese spend the night

tightrope walker even her smile balanced

maybe a dozen so I eat them slowly, black raspberries

my old school the water fountain much too low

Labor Day weekend the faded Hula-Hoop in the weeds

misty eve a neighbor’s dog gives a long howl

backyard sun shower . . . the windchime song changes with each cloud

as I undress the knotty pine all eyes

Shop window – wide-screen TVs show war scenes

yellow leaves… I search for a tennis ball

moonlight in vermont haiku in the sycamores moonlight in vermont

from across the crowded dining table her laughter

in silence we toss out bread crumbs for the ducks

summer afternoon . . . the first drops of rain on my bare feet

end of summer pelicans fly lower over a wave

already the geese honking Vs overhead — morning chill

face into the wind dodging a spider’s loose thread and its pine needle

near the cannery a whole apple orchard in one rail wagon

after the bang – on the lake surface falls dead silence

gray autumn sky — the blackbirds turn and turn

october night- chatter of frogs in the school pond

cold autumn rain the red EAT sign’s soft neon hum

autumn rain . . . a leaf has curled into its shadow

blue smoke travels down the red rock canyon– echo of a train

reed cutting – the stream together again after a rock

the cool air inside the terminal rests on me when I say farewell

furnace man – his soft grumble as he tunes the boiler

in the night the seller of roses returns ascending and creaking

hearth fire burns low a wind-blown twig scrapes the window

in the gutter a discarded cap collects swirling leaves

remaining heat – footprints to and from a sandcastle

reading something in the autumn wind dry leaves

autumn fish market all in a line eyes toward the sea

floodlight catches two masked thieves through the rain

in the dust under my bed a lost blindfold

lighted fireplace between each log shifting darkness

autumn sapling: all twelve leaves orange

who can tell from which tree they come autumn wind

still can’t sleep standing in the driveway the gibbous moon

on the table where the book sat a clean spot

light morning frost fills the old footprints in the concrete walk

small talk a few leaves remain in the trees

wild fires . . . only chimneys in the culdesac

enjoying autumn stillness the measured clatter of my clogs

stormy night — lightning outlines our bodies

end of autumn — finding myself in a field of thistle

after the argument in the kitchen, gouging out the potatoes’ eyes

kitchen skylight in my lunchtime soup moon & noodles

bare cottonwoods in wind streaked sky last spring’s nest

cold wind through the el station; the old bluesman’s harp

after the winter rain brown garden drips with birds

chopping block cook and cod exchange a long look

full moon– all of the cats on the roof appear white

winter moon the sea laps at old tide marks

December morning my neighbor ties blue balloons to her front porch

x-mas ornaments . . . a jolly buddha bends a branch

winter fog no snow on the ground

on the birches, as if for them alone — silver moonlight

corner of the house so sharp the cut wind shrieks

early morning the tips of the evergreen touched with light

stars on my coat from the winter sky

evening sky – on the village roofs falls a dark snow

counting breaths or not counting; cockscombs, poets come and go