Haiku 20

 Photo Credit: wampyrii.Licensed CC-BY.
Photo Credit: wampyrii.
Licensed CC-BY.
Pen clenched in left hand,
bent over her sudoku…
our train cools down.

To grandmother and
grandfather, his tattoo, but
I don’t ask him why.

Two umbrellas hung
from the guard tower railing,
not needed today.

Balloon flowers,
available in two shades;
grade-school commuters.

Ducks greet the sunrise
I hear them but don’t see them
as they plan their day.

I put down my book
to watch alternating lights,
both red, from the bus.

Yes! Go forth and seek
enlightenment through one rake;
I’ll pray you find it.

I wait, with sausage;
that elevator’s taking
a long time today.

Two dogs in the lake
black fur white fur flank-to-flank;
who chews on the stick?

She bids the blind man
goodbye, leaving him her seat
and a shoulder touch.

Two crows kissing
left side of the chapel cross
aloft, then, due west

“hole”–written on a
big board which actually
has one, this side up.

The window and desire
must intersect at some point
I’ll think on it more.

The barking dog
on Wednesday afternoon
keeps me from my nap.

The spider, gone from
its web at 4:45;
Will I call again?

I shall leave nothing
for posterity to hold
same sun, same window

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