Untitled Tanka

I crave a northbound

road to unhaunted landscapes,

worries left behind,

to where a soft wind rises

over and quiets my mind.

Late Sun

Riding along the

rural road this evening, the

burn in my muscles

dropped away for a time, and

the late sun glowed like honey.

Haiku

You are thirsty earth;
I am the cloud filled with rain.
Come, get under me.

River

I am a river,

cutting across man-made right

angle roads and fields,

willful, stubborn, to be worked

around, and not to be changed.

Look

Observation will

change the one observed—as her

raised eyebrow confirms.

Haiku

If I could turn down
the static in my head, what
sweet song would I hear?

Messages (7/17/12)

Lake water stroking

the shore, wind passing over

me like breath, sunlight

flashing on, off through my closed

eyelids, saying all is well.

Adirondack Haiku and Tanka (7/15/12)

A day's talking is

done—now the rain's soft patter

outside is enough.

Inside, low light and

a soft chair; outside, peaks reach

into the dark night.

An unlocked door, a

room with a bed—sleep well, and

pay in the morning.

July, and wood stacked

by the hearth promises light,

heat for short, cold days.

Question after an

arduous climb: insight

or just a light head?

On the peak's leeward

side—moss and flowers cling to

scant dirt on hard rock.

Returning to camp

at night, my light finds five pairs

of yellow eyes that

watch from the pine's boughs: raccoons

beginning the second shift.

Tonight's ride, haiku and tanka

I.

A line of cyclists
in early fall’s sharp light—bees
seeking late honey.


II.

A line of cyclists
in early fall’s fading light—
they hum along while
the sun slowly sinks, shadows
stretch—bees seeking late honey.