Haiku Harvest
Fall & Winter 2005

bamiyan valley
two buddhas weep—
crumbling rock



air conditioner
blowing at my back—
treetops stole my breeze



window blinds closed—
blind man stares
at the moon



the statue
stands through all seasons—
even bird shit



distant thunder
and a dog's cry—
kerouac interrupted



birds chirping
in the summer's heat—
the choir still out of tune



graves side by side—
the poet still writes
of death



in my stomach
the ulcer speaks—
lonely night



sewing room
the thread like a rainbow—
heavy black eyes



morning farm road
caters breakfast to buzzards—
honking at strangers


clouds rolling in—
a fly caught in the storm
of my sneeze



frog floats
in the dog's bowl—
we both jumped



church pews empty—
a hollow cocoon
hangs from a cross



june bugs gather
around backyard lights—
a midnight rave