haiku

the construction workers and the birds went quiet, just rain sounds outside


a long line of cars wait to cross while sparrows flirt about on the barbed wire


ice cracks as we walk; i keep my hands in my coat cause i lost my gloves


outside the twentieth story window a piece of paper fluttered by


wind carries voices, each year people march for change and the same cops watch


the pandemic stopped the cars but not the small dogs that need their daily walks


the rain brought a mud smell, a few meter-hours of europe in the west


it will be hot soon, i’m cleaning the garage avoiding a dead roach


cold spring breeze pushes leaves and barely strains oak branches, suspended girl swings


each year the summer runs longer; i feel guilty for owning jackets


fireworks half-heartedly going off – neither them nor us can change who we are


a spider sleeps next to my screen unaware twitter’s scrolling by


the animals lie on tiles hiding from the heat, outside the grass dries


all the colors are orange, the smoke has even set the sun on fire


a human caterpillar marching downtown, it’s too hot to not hide in shade


a septal tear drop in september wind, squirrels ignore us as they work


the next door condo construction is stuck again, few more sunsets yet


no cars on the road, the stray cats keep strolling by on the fence outside


gulls hover in fog, unbroken into the sky the ocean continues


too late for jay songs, the ambulance is fading but the dogs still howl


another batch of kittens outside oblivious to my cat glaring