the forest within a forest
of porcupine quills
Category: haiku
ancestral masks
the eyes go back
to being shadows
it’s not winter
it’s white springtime
#fakenews
college town
even the old motel
is younger than me
Four months away
even the full moon isn’t
where I left it
bronze Gandhi
patina sending tendrils
toward the earth
cloudy Sabbath
all eyes are on the bright
heirloom tomatoes
where that heron used to stand
a painting of a heron
In Weimar
the very trees are smothered
in historic moss
border terrier
this time I only merit
a brief sniff
on the morning
of my departure leaves bordered in frost
unsettled sky—
studying the markings
of bark beetle larvae
