The surging train sound,
sturdy heels on the sidewalk.
After distant hours,
the world turns its head,
or its ears. Someone has moved
the taciturn dawn
to become Sunday.
The air stirs budding branches.
A square of sunlight
falls between buildings.
A window opens nearby.
Below, two people
laugh. A bird marks seconds with
its usual song.
*After Pierre Reverdy
Filed under: Chicago, Haiku, Haiku Sonnets, Life, Literature, Musings, Neighbors, Pierre Reverdy, Poetry, Sonnets, Spring, Thoughts, Time, Urban Life, Writing
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observation: wonderful
Thanks, Scot. Reverdy, who was the model for this poem after, can seem utterly elegant or utterly vapid. My only goal was to avoid the latter. —D