Haiku Harvest
Spring & Summer 2006

flying
through the sunset . . .
dad’s empty beer can



almost full, the moon
draped with a thin cloud
. . . no privacy from the poets



the cool morning breeze
waving
the squirrel's tail



busy morning—
coffee splotches
reveal his path



the slow drip
of our coffee—
we watch the drizzle



a baseball glove
left on the little league field—
spring deepens



after prayer
still praying over our meal . . .
the fly



clothed in leaves . . .
my father's dog missing
a tooth



last day of february—
the black cat
holds up traffic



mudflats
painted over—
scarlet ibises



february sun—
a pink house
brighter pink



tailless lizard . . .
i wonder who got
the biggest scare?



a jacket sleeve
waves in the doorway
almost spring



dead moth
at the edge of the drain
winter still