a few haiku

Month: July, 2014

so small it lives off the clicks of insect legs

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the girl jogging
slows down to spit:
the end of summer

her hand on my chest
in the laundry room–
the short night

leaving the town of her arms
once known as brontosaurus

autumn clouds
only a picture
of her dog

spelling
cumulonimbus with my toe
long grass

between new bosons monkeys finish with Shakespeare

high school reunion a coin rubbed smooth

forsythia the fresh scent of new carpet

leaves about to burst tired of counting to ten