Late Night Haiku XLVI
CXXXI. The Lightning flashes
Like a giant firefly,
The dark wood watches.
CXXXII. Light, but no thunder —
A fury held back by space,
As plants strain to reach.
CXXXIII. I thought it was so,
He said, head resting in hands.
He strain'd in silence.
Late Night Haiku XLV
CXXVIII. Crickets chirp softly.
The warm summer air flows 'bout
Their mournful old tune.
CXXIX. What is their secret?
E'ery summer, they chirp anew,
The old melody.
CXXX. Tell me now what is —
I only wish to understand —
What lingers. Again.
Late Night Haiku XLIV
CXXV. The dark night crept around
The window panes, curled about,
And settled inside.
CXXVI. Kalmar now contains
A secret which hides about,
One foot around it.
CXXVII. What is to be told,
And what has been told so far —
Neither are so clear.
Late Night Haiku XLIII
CXXII. The silent word cuts
As no finely tuned phrase could.
Razor sharp, not quick.
CXXIII. A leaf, a cricket,
An empty cafe chair rusts a bit
In the summer's haze.
CXXIV. What was, was not really,
Or was it what it seemed?
An answer deferred.
Late Night Haiku XLII
CXIX. The porch light glows. Isolated
From anyone to enjoy
Its undarkening.
CXX. Silence. Rain passed.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The trees lose hold
Of storm-remnants. Drip.
CXXI. Crickets do not care.
They do not chirp at all now.
For it is still spring.
Late Night Haiku XLI
CXV. Silence prowls around
Bushes below my window.
Claws scratch quietly.
CXVII. Oh, cruel time! Tick, tock.
Time erodes when it could build —
A hole, but not whole.
CXVIII. Old friend, so much time
Has passed through the rugged chasm.
Ever widening.
Late Night Haiku XL
CXII. Lightning flashes about
The stormy mid-March night sky,
A tempest held back.
CXIII. I have known the storm,
And heard thunder now restrained,
Mighty hammers stilled.
CXIV. Though rain has past us,
Violent clouds address the sky,
Quarrel with the wind.
Late Night Haiku XXXIX
CIX. The rain falls softly,
Unspoken sorrow waters
The coming year's plants.
CX. Rain in January
Paints a picture of autumn,
Not winter, nor spring.
CXI. The bleak midwinter
Melts the dried tubers which lack
Rosetti's snow sheet.
Late Night Haiku XXXVIII
CVI. For a MacLeish poem
Concerning grief history:
Ah, the maple leaf!
CVII. The still empty box,
The note stored in the drawer,
The roaring silence.
CVIII. For the leaf fallen,
Sits still upon the porch step —
The kind bench, empty.
Late Night Haiku XXXVII
CIII. Drip. Trickle. Drip. Trickle. Drip.
Snow melts away the dirty —
A clean slate for spring.
CIV. Poor snow, once newfall'n!
A blanket of light now dims,
Curtain call finished.
CV. Each year, its job starts
At crisp Autumnal endings,
But fades 'fore spring's near.
