Haiku 40

Ash tree scratches air outside the window still lit after 3 am

One bright orange balloon from the bunch, lost to the wind… the sky’s only color

Two woolly afghans curled by knees on the bed kept close; that’s enough

Starlight, come how far to glisten at the edges of my open blinds

History is made about two blocks south of here I’m warm in the dark

History? Foolish. Two nights later, we’ll all note our place, our station

A dog barks inside that storefront, locked for years… puzzling evidence

Preacher, northbound bus “I love you! Who else loves you!” …then out into sluck

Crackle of the rain as it smacks, then zigzags down past my window ledge

His face, the flat planes eye standing at attention for their next target

For three syllables she sings to Prince, “Purple Rain” war news scrolls, silent

Croaking, she recites “I am the light, and the way…” her bags, her black eye

Cockroach on the sink has a birth date and death date much like its landlord

Two cranes almost kiss orange to orange, above my warm pestered head

Still mind, still body at 3 pm on Tuesday the wind simply is