autumn – tinywords

alone in the library I open to autumn

in one breath the whole autumn

strip mall a wild turkey pecks at a hubcap

fall migration the growing flock of binoculars

scattered leaves — two guitar picks on the blues man’s headstone

a leaf’s skeleton tossed by the wind — those moments when laughter filled the garden

autumn sunlight the old dog unearths her favorite toy

through autumn leaves a teal-trailed wake of light

autumn cascade — in and out of the foam a plastic bottle

bow, if you will marigold’s blossoms dried brown

late autumn walk the many paths I could have taken

October chill the silence in this shadow

homeless… a plastic bag drifts across the sidewalk

migrating geese rising out of my chair

autumn afternoon– an empty shopping cart waits at the bus stop

dusk– ten thousand blackbirds and no place to park

a yellow leaf describes the course of the wind

amid fallen leaves a business card still doing its job

in the pool of the ruined resort the wild ducks

leaving the Tokyo subway, a hundred umbrellas rise in unison

dead birds at the base of the lit skyscraper autumn midnight

Buddha eyes– a hunchbacked woman sweeps the temple steps

juncos black silhouettes in birch trees notes on a tangled clef

frost on the furrows up to the vanishing point— sunrise

he thinks again of turning leaves her hands

autumn leaves lipstick red her brand new path to herself

light falling everywhere in its own place — summer’s end (haiga)

migrating geese— wind flaps the scarecrow’s empty sleeves

leaves changing a language i can’t fully grasp

Skype— my parents describe the harvest moon

how do they manage migrating geese taking only their shadows

scenic route i brake for a maple leaf