Haiku: No-Strings Darkness

spring
first robin
corpse in a convertible

*

watching fireflies
a dark bedroom
where no one sleeps

*
spring rain
the tombstone pores
drink slowly

*

laundry night
a mother neatly folds
family darkness

*
spring morning
a rush of pollen
in Grand Central Station

*

under a bridge
the river’s hands
braid moonlight

*

night cornfield
long after green thousands
high nameless color

*
two strangers:
in a cold river
reflections flirt

*
yellow moth in web
dying too
is a little dance

*
el train gone
cinnamon drifts
a downtown breeze

*

totem pole
the mid-level executive
has a beak

*

on a floor
shaped by a window
moonlight pitfall

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the lambs
whose throats we slit
new in stained glass

*

Gothic cathedral
stained glass animals
color our faces

*

up too early
morning’s movie
black and white

*

someone cries
into a telephone
you thought extinct

*

moth
mother
mothest

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a moth
aghast at a bulb’s
eternal recurrence

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isolated cabin
the woods’ grain
testing mine

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winter fog
neighbors once
share our thoughts