night bird
is your cry the sound
of suicide?

sultry night . . .
words of kindness thicken
into syrup


with them all
I hang on every word
not spoken

morning dew . . .
my reflection hangs
on each drip

autumn night . . .
the darkness itself drowns
in a radio

skimming dreams
dawn breaks over
my eyelids


this hand of mine,
what other shapes waste away
in autumn mist?


autumn moon —
a morepork finds itself
in shadows

autumn dusk . . .
shadows stretch across
the chess board


music strains beyond
its sound


hanging moon . . .
thuds from mourner's shovels
echo the loss

dangling leaf . . .
a threnody rises
from the earth


night fall . . .
leaf prints echo still
the dance


the milky way . . .
nothing more than
a vague fragrance


stars, hide your fires
let not light see my dark
and deep desires


possum freeze . . .
night seals its shadow
to the road


paper trail . . .
a night's emptiness
peters out

through the night
death's chess pieces storm
my refuge


haiku's birth—
a child fitting words
to bird song


autumn dawn —
why this struggle to rise
from sleep's embrace?