Haiku
early morning . . .
a tree’s foliage bursts
into parakeets
mustard fields
a thimbleful of sun
on each blossom
cashmere scarf –
the smell of mothballs
in our kiss
wilting irises –
I turn up the volume
in an empty house
spring cleaning –
dusting the cobwebs
from my shadow
stitching the ends
of a cerulean sky. . .
darting swallows
longest night…
the taste of sea breeze
and her absence
thunderclap
the infant’s fist tightens
around a dream
early darkness –
the jagged flight of
a firefly
deep shadows…
a glow worm exhales
the Milky Way