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