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Quiet in the city
Rare
Lovely silence

What would I know
that the moon hasn’t seen
underneath it’s shimmering glow
by the water.

The shadows in the sand made by feet
remind me of us
hand in hand, and how we used to be.
and now how we faltered.

Another night drinking with memories…
by the moonlight.

Comrades and skeptics:
two months (February)
a lifetime ago of weather
preceded a tease of muddy melt
as wagging tails and charming chirps
renew our annual trust

that crocuses will bravely rise
daring her to stay Winter
while mud puppies muzzle deep
shovels sleep and ice melt hardens
breathers sneeze, rakes awake

New England spring
rewards our trust
golden forsythia asking
why we doubted

the sound of snow plows
faintly echoed by red wings come home
cold winds, now welcomed breeze
our call to cultivate
aerate, sow and sing aloud
are lilacs far behind?

Big bed, King baby
Bought it when our Pointer mix
Used to take up most of it
While we were sleeping around her
Dog first always in our abode

Now the pup is 14 and prefers the floor
A lot of space for me and my love
Between sleep and talking and restless nights
It’s the early dawn where we snuggle together

She invites me over, I gratefully slide in
To an embrace around her strong body
Years of teaching dance and doing choreography
Has its merits for her old dog that would be me

Zzzzzxxxxzzzzz

At the bend in the Kamehameha Highway
just past the shrimp truck and shave-ice shack
my cabdriver smokes and glares. Waits.
I’m leaving my island home now, just
one last look back at the Pali cliffs.

It was dangerous to live here so long.

The years rolled backward
and I became a spear thrower,
suspicious of change.

I noticed years passing when my hands
suddenly looked older,
skyscrapers obliterated
the Ko’olaus. Goodbye, then.

Mahalo, Marcia, friend from my youth.
We saw our aging bodies reflected
in the other’s glances, and
discreetly looked away.

To my mother Sara—
your ashes have joined
the Pacific by now, small birds
in the refuge have swallowed you.

My sisters and I will wait for you
in our small twin beds, willing
your yellow hair to fall
across our faces at night,
the storybook open in your hands.

blustery breeze
broken branches
memories of you

More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.

a cascade of blossoms
smiles on faces
camera flash

More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.