haiku

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


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


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


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


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


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


outside the twentieth story window a piece of paper fluttered by


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


another batch of kittens outside oblivious to my cat glaring