Now that I can only
limp rather than
walk in a straight line,
and can seldom achieve
the end of the block without resting,
I finally bought one. It’s here
by the coffee my heart doctor
wants me to quit, and the towering
stack of blank travel journals
that will always be
empty.
time
Haiku 12.6
As each petal falls
from these darkening roses
time bleeds more freely
Haiku October 7
How can I miss a
sea rushing wildly from shore
or words never said

Desk Clock
Holes in my address book,
ones left from people who have moved on
to destiny — or dust,
are measured precisely
against this desk clock’s minutes
flashing
relentlessly.
Haiku 12.9
Ragged files, stapled
and stuffed away, once crackled
with crisp beginnings