autumn wind —
a butterfly grows
more detached


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grinding axes
a sharp tongue rubs me up
the wrong way


 

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coolness!
the dark underbelly
of a rainbow


 

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gone!
love-lies-bleeding
in the mist


 

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autumn rain —
as the chatter ceases,
only her breath


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cloud-robed moon . . .
it stalks me along
this path


 

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after dusk
purple light rises
from the stream


 

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a cool night —
my daughter's moon flutters
on the fridge


 

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a mute child
finds it for me—
the way back


 

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morepork!
across the night
we are one


 

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twilight bird!
through the bush a wind
shaping sound


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morning mass —
dewfall stirs through
the wine


 

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distant voices . . .
the apparition of night
behind the door


 

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the night agape
with a poem's caesura . . .
light before dawn


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stormy night —
the distance between
then and now


 

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insomnia!
night conjugates 'to be'
through the tenses


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not so green,
a falling leaf spirals
through its is-ness


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being now the am which will have been


 

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wordless night —
rain's sound enters
the pool's depths


 

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autumn dusk —
shadows become all
just like that


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autumn rain
a grass blade resonates
within it


 

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mirror mist —
an iceberg drifts
through my eyes


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cowering clouds . . .
over the chasm's edge
a dream of flight


 

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casting shadows
tonight's same old moon
doubting me


 

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autumn night —
at the heart of it
this black hole


 

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pastel moon,
sinking into
a daydream


 

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morning mist —
a black swan shapes
its own past


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night rain —
older than last year,
the sound


 

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autumn night —
my eyes skim over
an endless sky


 

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silent spring —
stillness hovers
in the wings


 

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shallow stream —
leaf shadows drift
over stones


 

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autumn light —
coolness filters through
butterfly wings


 

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how predictable!
the poet's exclamation
goes on and on . . .
another tanka flounders
under too many syllables


 

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chill moon —
trees rustle the colour
of the wind


 

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stillness —
stained glass fluttering
though the ruins


 

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autumn rain —
concealed in the night,
the moon and me


 

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dead silence —
a falling leaf
enters it


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closet moon . . .
a recluse comes out
of hiding


 

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watercolour —
a swollen river muddies
a painted sea


 

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night bird . . .
silence leans into
its cry


 

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tussock mist —
dewdrops rise into
their own


 

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reclusive spring —
sinking back to its source,
a twisting eel


 

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autumn's end —
the moon pierces my doubts
with its light


 

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tadpole jar —
the long day's escape
into dreams


 

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weaving through
the intoxication of light,
pilgrim moths


 

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fallen fig
the flower within
awakens


 

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straight jacket . . .
within a chrysalis
flitting dreams


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the death throes
of homesick invaders:
leaf debris


 

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unable
to restrain the moon,
I lose sleep


 

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autumn deepens . . .
too much to linger with,
moon on the lake


 

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