Haiku 20

Pen clenched in left hand, bent over her sudoku… our train cools down.

To grandmother and grandfather, his tattoo, but I don’t ask him why.

Two umbrellas hung from the guard tower railing, not needed today.

Balloon flowers, available in two shades; grade-school commuters.

Ducks greet the sunrise I hear them but don’t see them as they plan their day.

I put down my book to watch alternating lights, both red, from the bus.

Yes! Go forth and seek enlightenment through one rake; I’ll pray you find it.

I wait, with sausage; that elevator’s taking a long time today.

Two dogs in the lake black fur white fur flank-to-flank; who chews on the stick?

She bids the blind man goodbye, leaving him her seat and a shoulder touch.

Two crows kissing left side of the chapel cross aloft, then, due west

“hole”–written on a big board which actually has one, this side up.

The window and desire must intersect at some point I’ll think on it more.

The barking dog on Wednesday afternoon keeps me from my nap.

The spider, gone from its web at 4:45; Will I call again?

I shall leave nothing for posterity to hold same sun, same window