As each petal falls
from these darkening roses
time bleeds more freely
autumn
Haiku 11.23
Gray pavement glistens.
Rain anoints guttered leaves. Steam
swells over coffee.
Precipitation
Rain
presses wet leaves against windows,
batters gray-guttered snow into drains,
beads on the eyeglasses of cabbies and mail carriers,
pelts the round shoulders of the old,
and strafes the last, stalwart blossoms
finally to the sidewalk, never asking
for forgiveness or gratitude.
It never asks even
for acceptance.
Haiku 11.6
Gray clouds close the sky,
Flocks of pigeons dot sidewalks –
Morning bus runs late.
Haiku 10.28
so early the sun
still sleeps and a low, dark wind
calls out to the clouds
Haiku 10.21
Warm air rustles through
dropped leaves, warms the last of the
portulaca blooms
Haiku 10.09
Late afternoon wind
worries the last red leaf, blows
loose thinning white hair
Haiku 10.21.2016
Russetted leaves float
on still, watercolored fog,
diamonded branches gleem
Apocalypse
Mornings are crisp now
so the hollow pealing of bells
from San Raphael Parish climb
the cemented hills more easily.
Summer’s weighty enclosure of air
shattered a week past
and aggressive city squirrels gnaw
through Jack O’Lanterns, gorging
for what lies ahead.
Haiku 11.16
frantic swirling yellow
and insolently red leaves
bite at the air