Haiku

9/16/08

Under the cursor,
the landscape bubbles—what if
eyes did the same thing?

9/15/08

In profile, his chin
bounced to his speech, a thing
apart and laughing.

9/14/08

Looking for some coins
I found a button crying
to be of use.

9/13/05

Rising to morning—
an exhalation of fog
hides ghosts walking.

9/12/08

The child urged the air
outside to come inside, his
fury windmilling.

9/11/08

A man sits idle
in a doorway, watching legs
like the woods passing.

9/10/08

At the computer—
all day desperately waiting
less than a second.

9/9/08

Her sky brimmed with stars
of the five-pointed type, spells
against emptiness.

9/8/08

Following unseen,
the last of the blackbirds, unstrung
from its strand of beads.

9/7/08

When the house quiets,
I hear hissing that sounds
like air escaping.

9/6/08

The morning birds’ cries
flicker like flame and die,
but silence burns too.

9/5/08

The moment it’s dark,
the last drop of rain, and words
whispered into dreams.

9/4/08

The restless night child:
Gusts whistle through window screens.
Paper leaves tables.

9/3/08

You pour until
every glass fills, and soon
nothing’s unspilled.

9/2/08

A mass of moonlit
leaves—repeated patterns hide
among the shadows.

9/1/08

Listen to the rain
dropping into pots—absorbed
in their little earth.

8/31/08

Outside these shadows
the world is bright—the leaves dance
in their own fire.

8/30/08

Sleeping in one room
with three snorers—their biplanes
chasing each other.

8/29/08

I hear cicadas
sighing between breezes, but
where are they hiding?

8/28/08

Street lamps turn blue cars
violet and fix moonlight
on moonless faces.

8/27/08

Morning’s yellow sky
hangs over us like a bloom
heavy with pollen.

8/26/08

A lone dog—head low—
wandering, no leash or collar,
the color of night.

8/25/08

In advertisements
cars hover over the street,
leaving no remnant.

8/24/08

The bell rings to call
the boxer out again, hands
too heavy to lift.

8/23/08

And the memory
slipped out like the tide, a guest
who’s suddenly gone.

8/22/08

Out at the edges
of the page, words bunch, crowding
to avoid the fall.

8/21/08

I’m awake again
to the coffee-maker’s
melancholy tide.

8/20/08

A melon awaits
cutting, its skin stretched to keep
summer sun within.

8/19/08

Dark branches reaching
into streetlights—hands full of
leaves they mean to hold.

8/18/08

Among the errors
is something to redeem
everything before.

8/17/08

Empty cups tumble
on the sidewalk ahead—wind’s
meager resolve.

8/16/08

Summer has ended—
the alarm clock wakes me and
I hear it all day.