January 31, 2016

Lake Ice

a steadying hand
will only prevent falling
not falling through

two feet of snow
the squirrels scold each other
for starting so late

January 30, 2016

footprints in the snow
the front yard bunny
was here first again

January 29, 2016

the snow’s crust
no longer supporting
our dreams

January 28, 2016

when I come out
I cloak my tale in laughter
clouds hiding the moon

January 27, 2016

dreary morning
the sun can’t figure out
which way is up

January 26, 2016

January 25, 2016

this particular star’s bounce
off the moon, off snow...

January 24, 2016

creating kingdoms
in the midst of shoveling 
he builds a snow throne

January 23, 2016

looking up numbers
of all the old friends I know
will be home today

January 22, 2016

January 21, 2016

milk and eggs
everyone following
the same pre-storm urge

January 20, 2016

visible planets
I hear my old art teacher:
fill the whole page!

January 19, 2016

morning glare
stopping to scrape the windshield
a second time

January 18, 2016

so busy looking
for the black ice they warned of
I forget the moon

January 17, 2016

January 16, 2016

a narrowing space
between frozen earth and sky
hospice visit

January 15, 2016

a new crop of rocks
in the field we cleared last year
work begins again

January 14, 2016

late night sky
reaching back to remember
the names of stars

January 13, 2016

all day at work
we share our yearning to quit
powerball jackpot

January 12, 2016

throwing away yeast
for the bread I never made
an old girlfriend calls

January 11, 2016

now that they’re frozen
we rediscover puddles —
still good for stomping

January 10, 2016

in the all-day rain
thoughts of you welling up  
the sump pump kicks on

January 09, 2016

still turning away
from the goose I saw today
dragging a wing

January 08, 2016

January 07, 2016

one box of crayons
and suddenly here we are
our eight year-old selves

January 06, 2016

gloved hands
and the struggle
to still feel the world

January 05, 2016

front yard bunny,
the fact that I could see you
was my proof of morning

January 04, 2016

teenage ritual —
into the frozen morning
without his coat

January 03, 2016

It was a poem.
How can I tell? Because now...
I yearn to re-read.

(Today's haiku is dedicated to magic-maker @stacyannchin, writer & performer of Motherstruck at the Lynn Redgrave theater in NYC.)

January 02, 2016

cold night air
seeming to gather and roll
we quicken our steps

January 01, 2016

our friends’ dog
lying under the table
teaching about hope