turbulent mist—all that is to becomelost in becoming
a butterflynot a leaf leftby the wind
moon charmedthe Kaipara harboursGod's presence
the moonwithin a sliverof shadow
rustic moon –my hidden self leavesthe city
light relief from dawn to dusk
morning mass – light presses downas manna
fog-boundlight takes onan overtoneof words
morning fogI feel my way throughpast, present or future
skylark songgone now – a birdunburdened
season of fog and mould'ring fruitfulness . . .what sound my song now?
autumn sea –a Maui's dolphin skirtsthe sixth extinction
in a ruta haiku caterwaulsfor its mate
cherry blossoms –a cool cat reformulatesthe familiar
a tomcattrots out unseasonal referencesat the witching hour
in silencea new moon'secholalia
moonless night –spiders search outfor my heart
dew-fall night without the moon
angelus bell –the flesh toneof my limits
a feijoa's sublime nymphomania of words
mountain fog –an aberrant willforking paths
tonight's moonand something newunder the sun
a battered butterfly stalks dead blooms
ancient wisdom –helplessly age succumbsto extinction
loneliness nestles into listening
star-struck night –on earth the light shedto banish them
burnt haikuescape their failingsas they rise
in a mosquito's buzzthe strand of my thoughtspierces hers
before leaf shed the plumage light retains
autumn wind deepening the sound ofan empty bottle
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