an apple
here in hiding
. . . nothing more

 

along this path
a bellbird chimes descant
to my footsteps —
she listens to the way
I sing inside my head

war rumours
a wood pigeon
moves tree

moonless night . . .
the persistence
of nothing

empty glasses
amid protestations
of love

sound of water
a child counts tadpoles
on one hand

first light . . .
I awaken to a dream
of myself

late mail . . .
I catch a whisper
of snow

white noise . . .
cicadas flesh out
summer

day moon . . .
the gap between shot
and victim

moon-haunted sky —
a night bird sounds out
that which was

willows
in a foreign tongue
word the wind

suckling child . . .
silence gathers
within her

joyful decade . . .
the undercurrent
of cicadas

withered fields . . .
a corporate think tank
traps the rain

end of summer . . .
light grows heavy with heat
and cicadas

after dark
more than just echoes
the cicadas

summer's end
the morepork gives out
an aged sound

failing light . . .
my feet outrun the dust
of another town


 

utterly spent
the smudges of lipstick
at sunset

summer clouds tower
from the orchestra pit —
woodwind section

stillness —
a humid night thickens
in my head

Monday
the last quarter
not given

tuareg dusk
a caravan of clouds
from the west

summer haiku
yawning doggerel
sprawls the page

lingering heat . . .
eyes close to sustain
the sunset

night vision —
the same empty page
soaks up light

the other —
my shadow bridges 
its abyss
cold war —
the rehearsal of
a button press
end of summer —
what spectres bubble
from the mud pool?
to this end
the twists and turns
of her finger
coinless
before Charon
summer ends
thunder hive
a taste of honey
from the rock
bumper harvest time —
a rich man plans bigger barns
to hoard his excess
almost there
the sprouting of green
on the stalk
Huysmans' tortoise . . .
a hip-hop pimp hobbling
under guilt
in the bowl
a wailing madonna's
pregnancy tissue
summer heat
a burrito brays
after itself
lenten vows
on her ring finger
a bagel
my unicode
1F6B2
built for two
still not found
what he is looking for
night busker
valentine's day
the wandering eyes
of a blackbird
rain forest . . .
all the trees not found
in my books
sound of water —
a haiku hinges on 
this line break
little sparrow . . .
biscuit crumbs trail
before her
autumn dusk . . .
afterglow of peace, love
and mung beans
first light . . .
I awaken to a dream
of myself
morning jog
liveliness springs
from her step
sudden chill
a family boxes in
on itself
summer breeze
the sudden silence
of caged hens