Haiku
Roots stick out from red clay.
I forget about my dream.
After rain, clouds tiptoe away.
Number 87 slides
off the track, back wheels
aflame. Happy 4th.
Hercules lying around —
stars spread out on night's
velvet pool of spilt ink.
Taking a tick off Alex's neck,
dragon smoke floats across
tree tops before rain.
The rain insists on its own
sentences. Its tattered hum
drums the bird-filled trees.
Fairy wand beside the path.
I wish for forever.
Crows gathering at dusk.
*
Swan never hurries.
I too have no place to be.
Chokeberries falling.
After last night’s rain
a slew of mushrooms sets up
big tops on the lot.
The wind must like me.
Only my hat blows away
chasing umbrella.
Moon grows a white beard,
mist, wispy around its chin.
We must be mirrors.
Under the empress tree,
black butterfly between leaves
come to hear me play.
*
Parasol mushrooms,
caps atilt, make a grand show
waltzing with the moon.
Ants carry a dead moth
away in tiny pieces.
No time to quibble.
Lattice wings outspread,
a dragonfly has transpired.
Infinity sighs.
Across the river,
tallest steeple in Greenpoint.
Your dress teases a breeze.
Goose poop on sidewalk,
green goop. Watch your step, silly.
Don’t make up small fibs.
Woken by a bad dream,
I am not an imposter.
The Express whistles.
