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Posts Tagged ‘haiku’

Two Simple-ings

still blooming
that apricot tree in my
rearview mirror

*

playing Schumann
for forty minutes
it’s the only news

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Six Aimlesses

walking in the room
the dog sniffs the air
where the poem was

*

plastic bubble pipe—
what does this have to do
with infinity?

*

green exit sign—
wishing I could hang it
above my fear

*

empty dish—
the cat never worries
about her figure

*

no atmosphere, no
water, no life, Mars at least
you’re still a planet

*

in large white letters
the highway sign says MARVEL—
I pass going sixty

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haiku

before the rose
has even bloomed, already
lamenting its loss

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What If Haiku

standing on the stoop
of your heart, too scared
to ring the bell

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turning black
all those apricot blooms
I am not thinking of

*

almost pink—
the orchard not the only place
about to bloom

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Six Noticings

heart in the wall in Colorado National Monument

throwing open
the heart, surprised to find
another heart

*

six months later
dead is more dead
than before

*

the long road
to you not long
enough

*

cracked by joy
stars leak through my layers
an infinite spilling

*

trapped on barbed wire
the scrap
of a red balloon

*

even leafless
the old cottonwood perfect
in every moment

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not only the aspen
wear nothing, not only
the sky

*

shoveling
the walk, making a path
for the sun

*

the rose does not try
to re-adhere fallen petals—
still this impulse to fix

*

in the sky, a door,
in the door, a sky, in the
sky a door

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Four More Surprises

rhymed in ice
the old cottonwood tree—
an altar for emptiness

*

that rock in the highway—
only the drivers think
it’s out of place

*

elk in the windshield—
taking time to notice
how brown its eyes

*

when I forgot
I was waiting, the flower
opened

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Clear Day Haiku

blue so wide
no need to wonder
if we’re connected

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Five Accidents

my whole life
preparing me for this moment—
10:19 p.m.

*

rolling down my window
to ask directions, hearing
a chorus of birds

*

new snow on the grass
this, too, the scent
of exploded stars

*

please, I said
to the sun, don’t go
some part of me
reveling in asking
the impossible

*

my whole life
preparing me for this moment—
10:20 p.m.

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