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


 

stillness!
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?