Captured here
in the breath
curled
under my fingers
is all I could
hold, all
of you I could
save.
Spring
Haiku 5.5
Rain without a good
Umbrella, mist looms — heavy
With our memories.
Waiting For Sharp Edges
Sun
bright but not heating,
its warmth lost before completing descent.
Unopened tulips line pathways.
Neighbors step off the sidewalk
rather than share any manner of closeness.
This spring morning. This heart
and these tears
beginning their crumble.
Haiku 4.15
Hats, scarves and trees torn
by gale-force winds. Tulips bloom
in an old shed’s lee.
Haiku 2.23
Sharply edged slate clouds
slicing white to blue skies –
rail car reeks cleaner.
Haiku 5.3
Splattered asphalt
courses rivulets of rain,
umbrellas bob, weave.
Haiku 4.28
Newly sprouted leaves
wiggle free of winter bark –
buses chug to town
Haiku 2.27
From here the sun’s arc
is invisible. Squirrels
chatter in its warmth.
Haiku 21 Mar
Frigid air hovers in
this dim subway tunnel – spring
wrapped in a good coat
Haiku 5-20
Slate horizons press
edges, smudging rain and sky
over asphalt roads
brief salvage 