unseen trees seed the dark

a moth enters my waiting

word-spent
the womb-held absolute
womb-held

without cause
the sound of water . . .
just the words

autumn wind
deepening the sound of
an empty bottle

before leaf shed the plumage light retains

in a mosquito's buzz
the strand of my thoughts
pierces hers

burnt haiku
escape their failings
as they rise

star-struck night –
on earth the light shed
to banish them

loneliness nestles into listening

ancient wisdom –
helplessly age succumbs
to extinction

a battered butterfly stalks dead blooms

tonight's moon
and something new
under the sun

mountain fog –
an aberrant will
forking paths

a feijoa's sublime nymphomania of words

angelus bell –
the flesh tone
of my limits

dew-fall night without the moon

moonless night –
spiders search out
for my heart

in silence
a new moon's
echolalia

a tomcat
trots out unseasonal references
at the witching hour

cherry blossoms –
a cool cat reformulates
the familiar

in a rut
a haiku caterwauls
for its mate

autumn sea –
a Maui's dolphin skirts
the sixth extinction

season of fog
and mould'ring fruitfulness . . .
what sound my song now?

skylark song
gone now – a bird
unburdened

morning fog
I feel my way through
past, present or future

fog-bound
light takes on
an overtone
of words

morning mass –
light presses down
as manna

light relief from dawn to dusk

rustic moon –
my hidden self leaves
the city