late night flyover

the last two geese

still arguing

invisible moon —

I watch your lips until I

lose your words’ meaning

the squirrels and me —

running up and down

so busy forgetting

thin slice of moon —

I teach my fingers

to trace your scar

a day without sun

as the rain soaks its way down

into this haiku

first pitch —

a warbler gets the morning

off to a good start

every raindrop

its own origin story —

gathering autumn clouds

so glad for one picture

that shows the baby

crying

around every corner

flowers still hanging on

bent but not broken