January 2014

the child I was
singsongs the silence
still to come

mobile call —
the spring in her voice
in the rain

mountain mist
almost to see through
not a word to say

limpid stream . . .
my eyes hold on
to nothing

windswept rain —
everyone I pass
a Buddha

. . . . . . . . . .
. . . taiga . . .
. . virtually . .
. . . . a . . . . .
. . . haiku . . .
. . . . . . . . . .

cloudless day . . .
surface ripples terraform
a stream bed

dusky sound . . .
my smile enters hers
noiselessly

windswept dunes —
what lips pare mine
of words?

a black swan
stretches into the mist
silencing heaven

in silence
a rose darkens
the night

autumn shadows —
my image slips behind
a thousand eyes

new moon —
emptiness tugs
at me