Tuesday, January 2, 2007

Haiku Harvest
Spring & Summer 2006

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
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

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