March 31, 2014

Why do I want
the sound of the bamboo
to be something else?

March 30, 2014

the birds crowd their songs
into the all-day rain’s
one break

March 29, 2014

rain on the new roof —
I think of the birds at night
heads under their wings

March 28, 2014

March 27, 2014

absent blossoms
we offer each other
stories of blossoms

March 26, 2014

the wind today —
so strong I almost gave in
to a trust fall

March 25, 2014

fully fluffed
and twice their usual size —
cold-snapped chickadees

March 24, 2014

one more trip around
just in case anything’s changed —
our pond koi

March 23, 2014

dogs out on their walks
looking like they’re in cahoots
with spring

March 22, 2014

first day of spring —
all anyone talks about
is the coming snow

March 21, 2014

trying something new —
digging in the cabinet
for the cardamom

March 20, 2014

darting lizards —
all he’ll remember
of the garden tour

March 19, 2014

beneath our boat
a huge floating dream
of a manatee

March 18, 2014

road ends in swamp —
the difference between
our map and the world

March 17, 2014

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...

March 16, 2014

the turtle’s leg
as it tries to flip over —
so long, suddenly!

March 15, 2014

wheeling vultures,
retirees at the pool —
we all look lively

March 14, 2014

snowdrops at last —
the sound of relief
in my neighbor’s voice

March 13, 2014

after the concert —
hearing music once again
in the gusting wind

March 12, 2014

every bird listens
for the sound of the rain

March 11, 2014

sinking in
as I walk across the yard —
spring thaw

March 10, 2014

daylight saving time —
the parrot can’t figure out
why I’m awake

March 09, 2014

in seeming stillness,
my feet swept out from under —
her cancer returns

March 08, 2014

startled by the stars
as they align in new ways —
she calls me first

March 07, 2014

snow in retreat —
an old line of poetry
comes back, unbidden

March 06, 2014

our nest
with its invisible edge —
he still turns to wave

March 05, 2014

lingering ice —
I remember her name
while she forgets mine

March 04, 2014

an unfledged robin
cupped in my shaky hands —
two hammering hearts

March 03, 2014

the sweet moment
of “give” when the orange
is truly ready

March 02, 2014

out of the river
your canoe can also make
a pretty good tent

March 01, 2014

snow clouds
sending down my new hat
one flake at a time