an apple
here in hiding
. . . nothing more

 

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

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war rumours
a wood pigeon
moves tree

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moonless night . . .
the persistence
of nothing

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empty glasses
amid protestations
of love

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sound of water
a child counts tadpoles
on one hand

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

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late mail . . .
I catch a whisper
of snow

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white noise . . .
cicadas flesh out
summer

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day moon . . .
the gap between shot
and victim

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

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willows
in a foreign tongue
word the wind

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suckling child . . .
silence gathers
within her

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joyful decade . . .
the undercurrent
of cicadas

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

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

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after dark
more than just echoes
the cicadas

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summer's end
the morepork gives out
an aged sound

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


 

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utterly spent
the smudges of lipstick
at sunset

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summer clouds tower
from the orchestra pit —
woodwind section

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stillness —
a humid night thickens
in my head

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Monday
the last quarter
not given

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tuareg dusk
a caravan of clouds
from the west

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summer haiku
yawning doggerel
sprawls the page

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lingering heat . . .
eyes close to sustain
the sunset

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night vision —
the same empty page
soaks up light

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