.m

.haiku

she’s not here — the cat’s
asleep all sprawled out on the
far side of the bed

—

young crows continue
hopping about like it’s not
raining — i shiver

—

kittens sneak across
the border wall. don’t worry
gatos, i’m no cop

—

power went out here,
so many alarms ringing —
electric frog songs

—

we die all the time,
we die when we forget more
than we experience

—

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

—

fireworks meekly
going off – like us they must
follow their nature

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

another batch of
kittens outside oblivious
to my cat glaring

—

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

—

outside the twentieth
story window a piece of
paper fluttered by

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

gulls hover in fog,
the ocean continues right
into the gray sky

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

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

—

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