Why do I want

the sound of the bamboo

to be something else?

the birds crowd their songs

into the all-day rain’s

one break

rain on the new roof —

I think of the birds at night

heads under their wings

we turn away

for just a moment

and miss twilight

absent blossoms

we offer each other

stories of blossoms

the wind today —

so strong I almost gave in

to a trust fall

fully fluffed

and twice their usual size —

cold-snapped chickadees

one more trip around

just in case anything’s changed —

our pond koi

dogs out on their walks

looking like they’re in cahoots

with spring

first day of spring —

all anyone talks about

is the coming snow

trying something new —

digging in the cabinet

for the cardamom

darting lizards —

all he’ll remember

of the garden tour

beneath our boat

a huge floating dream

of a manatee

road ends in swamp —

the difference between

our map and the world

full moon —

I plan to tell the sand crabs

all about it



One year ago tonight, I wrote a haiku and posted it here. "I should do this every night," I thought. And then, "I wonder if I could." Tonight's haiku is the 365th since then.

Wonder if I can keep going...

the turtle’s leg

as it tries to flip over —

so long, suddenly!

wheeling vultures,

retirees at the pool —

we all look lively

snowdrops at last —

the sound of relief

in my neighbor’s voice

after the concert —

hearing music once again

in the gusting wind

every bird listens

for the sound of the rain

stopping

sinking in

as I walk across the yard —

spring thaw

daylight saving time —

the parrot can’t figure out

why I’m awake

in seeming stillness,

my feet swept out from under —

her cancer returns

startled by the stars

as they align in new ways —

she calls me first

snow in retreat —

an old line of poetry

comes back, unbidden

our nest

with its invisible edge —

he still turns to wave

lingering ice —

I remember her name

while she forgets mine

an unfledged robin

cupped in my shaky hands —

two hammering hearts

the sweet moment

of “give” when the orange

is truly ready

out of the river

your canoe can also make

a pretty good tent

snow clouds

sending down my new hat

one flake at a time