haiku
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leftover summer grass ... horses browse through crusted snow
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old leather saddle cherry colored and shiny smells of horse
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the same moon shines on us both -- these cold sheets
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last leaves shaking on a branch late migrators
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Back from the garden : "lots of beans zucchini"
and a haiku
greyness – of the chocolate fish crunching a bite ...
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retirement home my mother talks to me about the one with the gray hair
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under the red trees from the busty blonde the perfume
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this autumn morning in the mirror my father
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rooftop firepit sparks mingle with the stars
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winter moon "the cold clear
clanking"
Standing silently In autumn rain The old cypress
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tuning out the news on the back porch barn swallows
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winter sunlight on rumpled linen those slow hands
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jasmine beneath the stars his blue eyes
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wine sapped moon the distance beyond her lover's wife
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ferocious storms wakened by the wet of a dog tongue
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winter sun the slow drip-drip of an icicle
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starry night a million words unspoken
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the last of the boxes finally moved out cloud covered sunset
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handing off the keys a chill wind hustles the end of April
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all the birds unnamed on the fence spring rain
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labor day and still no labor
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open jalousies the missing scent of his cologne
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wine moon the heat in the kitchen so close
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sunny afternoon sand swept behind the door
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middle of the night on a wicked wind passing news
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morning stillness a bird song I've never heard before
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sunday sermon children's voices mix with the choir
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Mother's Day everytime she calls
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heavy rain a darkening sky behind her face
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summer storm the estate sale next door continues on
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Sunday afternoon bittersweet chocolate and swapped addresses
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Sunday dusk a last wine bottle piled in the trunk
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Boston news a crazy day and yet that butterfly
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dockside fight french fries in a pile of seagulls
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habemus papam! I've always loved Latino men
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internet break the smell of rain and boggy earth
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shortcut. . . the railway tracks still vibrating
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past midnight public television lights up the room
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warm drizzle cinnamon buns and tea for two
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distant thunder a whiff of foreign perfume
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autumn morning dew-drops dripping from a cane pole
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autumn sun hidden in the flower bed mushrooms
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Indian summer the baby in the back seat mine for a week
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waning moon my parents visit comes to an end
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morning mist his wallet and keys missing again
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making a u-turn clear in the rear view mirror autumn afternoon
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graveside service slipping from Grandma's book pressed wildflowers
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middle of the night my fingers tick tick ticking a hot flash haiku
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"hot humid day" a jazz station plays
cool tunes
night watch the ex boyfriends house on google earth
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autumn wind another leaf flutters from the pile
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standing alone under a double rainbow
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summer rain the missing scent of cologne
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summer twilight push mowers stop for crickets
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this sense when first we met— blue hyacinth
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predawn crows —I argue with my therapist
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climbing rose the cut marks on his wrist
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drying shed— a hint of thyme in the onions
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long blue tail of a damselfly kite festival
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sun striking the hour glass— spring equinox
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the weight of the muddy river jerry-can on her head
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morning fog in the mangroves temple gong
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first rinse of the rice a wild scurry of clouds
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silent flight of a raptor your breath on my neck
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summer sun each spoonful a taste of cayenne
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far side of the moon— that stolen kiss
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wood knot in my pocket— fog over water
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a long wooden pier at the end a glimmer of light
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red moon the calligraphy of charred trees
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the bent nail where garlic hung . . . winter moon
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heat haze the miles of boundary fence
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a few notes from an untuned piano... autumn rain
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old pond oil slick rainbows slip in
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temple looting another buddha loses his head
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white dawn a moon crab sinks back into sand
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winter beach i throw a stick for no dog
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beer garden table the blurred edges of many circles
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retirement home — the same pot of coffee sitting all day
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Saturday morning drizzle . . . a driving lesson with my dad
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after each haiku— the pencil a little shorter
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cup of tea --- the moon still until i sip it
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fresh sawdust among the birches -- his bent shoulders
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discarding the tea leaves-- distant thunder
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scent of roses -- counting the stars one by one
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thunderstorm -- a shadow pauses at the gate
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autumn moon the burn of the whiskey you left behind
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in the churchyard where my father found god bruised apples
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forgetting his voice my dad’s apology letter crackles in the fire
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dad's suicide a candle burns away its shadow
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slow dancing -- snowflakes swirl to the sound of silence
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dead of winter blossoming in the darkness my breath
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midnight coffee a spoonful of sugar stirred into the darkness
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sleepless night - in the distance midnight express
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visakha moon smell of incense from another room
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Indian summer- farmer's cracked lip
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starry night. . . counting out my pills for chemo
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gone... the space between us filling with wind
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ebb tide giving and taking a yellow plastic spade
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