Haiku 9

If the barrel rolls and goes unmissed until spring was it ever lost?

In wisteria, the remains of a feline she dies when we die

Hot sauce on pizza the man’s wife died this morning, chatter in Russian

The lost magician, our supervisor runs out to give directions.

I had not wanted to give up on this ball-point, almost New Year’s.

Black dog on a leash the lady with half a face tinkles the piano.

Plans for the New Year: music again, in the street, and maybe a choir.

Car tires on gravel or, the drizzle, come again which one sounds thicker?

Electric snowflakes blinking on the crane, but fog beckons the New Year.

My resolutions? watching white lights in the fog that’s all I can do.

The sound of the wind strong and then away so swift the sidewalk holds fast.

I must ask of you where can anybody go that I can’t hear them?

Morning reminds me I cannot acknowledge death above a whisper

On the half-hour bus old man with a hearing aid teaching her street names.

In a church doorway piss-stained, he pulls up his pants refusing my food.

Single cough from the sidewalk, but thick enough to cover the whole street.

Optimistic smile as he casts all his loose change to the shelter roof.

Six pigeons, one streetlamp how many disputed fares happen below?