with the birds
the words to voice
such silence
sun shower
a rain drop turns
into wine
death bed vigil . . .
his mind fingers through
beads of sweat
mist . . .
from tree to tree
an afterthought
iambic throb —
the slow black trochee
of life-blood
scented night —
a moth enters the hush
between stars
midnight stroll
beyond the back-chatter
of the universe
 
the milky way
stretches out its wingspan
of indifference
inland sea . . .
the sound of a siren
turns my head
mid night
all the stars out there 
mid way from the past
under a cloud
a beekeeper checks
each peony
graveyard shift —
the past in spectres picking
through haibones
on reflection
moonset's paucity
of words

queueless the fine line here

second language
just one second after
a big bang
desert spring . . .
some words from my mouth
half-shut
no man's land —
haiku mind-seeding
by moonlight
from the dark
from the space it leaves
a  tree begins
moonlit lake —
the doppler effect
of black swans
crescent moon
separating facts
from fiction
crescent moon
another thumbnail sketch
of sad stories
crescent moon
light crests over
a snail

a part across from a godwit’s carbon footprint