haiku

bus stop an empty bench and a bag lunch

from pampas grass a dragonfly emerges thunderclaps

gusty wind chasing one another three plastic cups

beach party the last drop of sunlight caught in a glass

rain curtain of absences

the little spider hunches sideways— night shift

whispering grass ~ the scythe’s sound against the stone

World Series another layer of paint flakes off the fence

summer’s end lilies pointing toward earth

summer’s end— rearranging gravel in the Zen garden

last bloom— closing the shears

recession rising from the factory stacks five small black b i r d s

October chill the silence in this shadow

homeless… a plastic bag drifts across the sidewalk

migrating geese rising out of my chair

slowly two clouds collide over rush hour

dense fog the train evaporates into a distant horn

flea market~ every old watch keeps its time

moonrise moonset your nakedness

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

dusk– ten thousand blackbirds and no place to park

lit fish stall open mouths darken in the night

clear night my moon shadow settles on a white tombstone

deep breath before I enter the panhandler’s aura

election night smoke from an unseen cigar

a gardener on the radio smells the jasmine

where street meets sunrise– the steam

traffic jam– my thoughts still in motion

a yellow leaf describes the course of the wind

amid fallen leaves a business card still doing its job

prayer candle shadows pass through each other

I’m not a poem. I’m a dog. Respect The differences.

Pelham Parkway between the winter trees the child’s breath

in the pool of the ruined resort the wild ducks

commuter platform a harmonica blowing the freight train blues

leaving the Tokyo subway, a hundred umbrellas rise in unison

rooftop garden— climbing the stairs back to nature

gallery tour the ladies gaze at the dozing watchman

park bench pigeons begging the homeless man

department store sale flyers flying

hotel bar: ice shifts and shifts again.

just a flat tire chained to a lamppost waning autumn moon

dead birds at the base of the lit skyscraper autumn midnight

footprints the prairie dog stretches its shadow

deep snow … the acorn up to its cap

funeral procession the hitchhiker tucks his thumbs in his pockets

nor’easter– scent of the river rising

sheltered by the bus stop empties

Buddha eyes– a hunchbacked woman sweeps the temple steps

lovers’ moon– a cicada leaves its shell on the fence post

birthday party the new neighbor shows his tattoo

dead-end street every house but one boarded up

the writer we exchange a few words

trailing the snail on the pale gray pavement an ellipsis…

a bowed head in each bus window mountain fog

shortest day– the waiting room clock at the ICU

January thaw dog-walkers greet leashed strangers

goodbye hugs— all the places where we touch

not getting my joke but he smiles anyway– the stone buddha

juncos black silhouettes in birch trees notes on a tangled clef

cherry blossoms drifting down mission street three pink hookers

black fedora the blind man inspects its brim

corner beggar change is everywhere

owl’s call sounding the depth of a winter night

moon eclipse– he asks again what day it is

dead of winter a wraith from the dryer vent drifts through the fence

snowstorm even the stoplights slow down

painting class children color each other into laughter

the snow before it falls white sun

Stalin’s statue in his heart still stone

midwinter night light from the snow the stars

a last rocket… lights twinkle into the New Year

sculpture garden– new snow on her marble breasts

late afternoon– a glimpse of sunlight through her hair

low tide the silent contractions of a jellyfish

midnight fog the street light a silver dandelion

The fountain’s too lucid moon–just inches above a litter of leaves.

snowmelt… a woodpecker thrums into thin sun

white phlox blossoms daring the frost

night sky the rusted tin roof leaking moonlight

walking back the way we came shadows shift

stuttering light the sound of tea being poured

a sliver of moon she asks if he really exists

street preacher the hooker throws a few coins in his hat

almost no delta at the mouth of the river– forgotten dreams

on a bare twig rain beads what light there is

iridescence of the dogwood leaf– autumn moon

winterlight a blur of birdsong in the air

slipping in beneath the kitchen door –first sunlight

a jarful of coins from faraway places winter stars

low tide we run through the clouds

drizzle and mud– sparrows sinking deeper into drab

through the skylight only we can see these stars

the news no one wants… waning moon

black cattle among the trees heat lightning

night jog— sparks from a train rounding a turn

the rabbit’s ears translucent at dawn

sun through the syringe— red red poppy bloom

day’s end refilling my wine glass moonlight

a firefly’s glow against her palm passed to mine

graffiti sharper by moonlight

up to the summit up to a hawk’s cry up to the sun

shadows fold within shadows of the rose

black and white the absolute truth of her ultrasound

an old woman sweeps the walk of cherry blossoms children’s laughter

early spring hike— brushing the winter dust off her bones

fireworks at twilight forsythia

July 5th— ants darken the edge of a dropped chip

phosphorescence a firefly alights on the periodic table

summer breeze … the wind generators in unison

the curve of her hips— buttercups

waiting for the sheep to pass a skylark's song

as she leaves again the scent of apricots

a swallowtail touches my fingertips— warrior pose

unboxed letters what I missed between the lines

teaching my sons to skip river stones ripples converge

days, weeks, months her dressing gown still hanging on our bedroom door

in the curve of the piano a face disappears into itself

beer and wine a summer night with my sometime thing

yoshino cherry tree— it was never a question of if