evening waves —
I remember her touch
silent as a comet

keeping in touch our mitochondrial Eve

alone at last at a dead stop .

head shot
my personal pronouns
shedding capitals
look to the clouds!
there is an earthquake
in the air
Not really a haiku, more a presentiment I had for the coming week.
When Pentecost day came round
within fire
the tongue-tied voice
of the pine

first frost . . .
whiteness clings on
in the shade


set horizontal the s....u....n stretches out along one line

first frost . . .
rigor mortis creeps
along the lawn
by moonlight
the landscape the woman

fog of war droning on and on

mist swans
weave through the ritual
of evening
undergrowth —
a condom wrapper spent 
among the leaves
moments before
out of sleep
erasures of light
redefine it
autumn ends —
my image stripped back
to bare bones