desert

I close my eyes and see
the desert sun’s shadow –
absolute stillness



...

banks of mounting fog
held in place by snow-capped crests –
snake basks in the sun

Acoma

visiting the shell
of an Indian pueblo –
ghosts in broad daylight

...

worn ladder
rising above an adobe wall,
piercing the blue sky

spirits of New Mexico

scorching heat, arid earth:
faces branded by the
sun and history

...

buttes rise from the desert floor,
stepping stones of ancient gods –
flat clouds drift

last haiku for a while: someday

some day, sometime
I'll get to this, to that --
"to the lighthouse"

...

alone in my thoughts
I stir myself
to say "good morning"

thoughtless

in lotus pose
spine aligned, hands cupped upward
I hear but don't listen

...

without even trying
I take refuge in no-thing
and lose my self

glass

car window:
reflection of an aging man
seeking peace

...

man at the florist --
slight smile as he arranges
the pale snapdragons

coffee light

Japanese lanterns
hanging in the coffee house --
neon shines outside



...

solid wooden beams
fastened by cast iron joints;
rich light reflected

down the street

putto perched
above a mahogany door;
robin sits to one side

...

lighted sign
on the corner store's wall:
"ph r acy"

gone

one rose in front of
the broken embassy:
quiet diplomacy

...

closed iron gate
in the middle of a park --
path leading to nowhere

lulled

insistent warbling
of some lonely bird;
rustling of leaves in the dark

...

bulbous poppy pods
cover the hillside --
I am lulled towards slumber

more street scenes

my neighborhood:
heavy hardwood rockers
chained together on a porch

...

graffiti on a mailbox;
inside, the scrawlings
of a spurned lover

window

Tibetan prayer flags
wave into my room,
then pull flat against the screen

...

murmurs of neighbors
at a tea party next door
spring through the window

early

early one spring morning
birds not yet awake;
trees grow silently



...

moonlit tulips
faint in the glow --
street lamp flickers out

morning street

young lovers walk along
hand in hand
grasping memories of last night

...



trekking to work,
I hear a screed
aimed at a world that doesn't listen

memoirs

recollections
of a time, far distant,
that I can barely recall

...

a sudden maelstrom,
loose leaves whipped by the wind;
silk tie brushes my cheek

May

fleur-de-lys
on a concrete flower stand;
spray of red and yellow falls

...

tinge of red
on new oak leaves --
harbinger of fall in May

soft

gentle scent of spring,
momentary flash of sweet --
naked tulip stems

...

crisp bird calls amidst
the silence of early morning --
haze before dawn

process

silence follows silence
stillness follows stillness
milestones of life

...

I start each day
with Zen and Taoist readings;
empty head, open heart

fragile

waning, cratered moon;
fading powdered profile
of an aging geisha

...

broken robin's egg
on the sidewalk, half missing --
a future ended

beams

sunbeams slant, transparent
white over the skyline;
street patched with fresh tar

...

windows in a spire,
sunlight and shadows
come together, resonate

soak

pouring rain
soaking the ground beneath my feet -
fire hydrant dripping



...

between torrents
no thrumming on the roof;
cold river in the street ebbs