Before a Colorado Sunrise Haiku

walk out, says the dawn
as I tumble from warm sheets
into a down coat.

so much green in last
night’s layer – I cannot tell
snowfall from sagebrush.

to have a sense of
place is to have a sense of
the cloud veiled mountains.

snowflakes melt onto
fresh yellow buds – gratitude
is not word enough.


Transitions haiku

I saved the picture
of her hands, as I knew one
day they would be mine.

On the side of the
highway, a crow, and beside
another, helpless.

Eleven shades of
green make a bright path through the
remains of winter.

Here we are in the
sweet afternoon and an hour
closer to sunset.

Just Like the Morning

Snow has fallen
on yesterday’s
belief of spring,

yet the morning branches
still echo
with winter’s

pent up birdsong.
Life, even
in its familiarity,

offers itself anew
each moment.  Perhaps,
you are so startled

by the light and shadow
on the bedroom walls
that you take a picture

as you linger
in the pillows
for just a little longer.

you are startled
that everything is dissolving

into beauty,
again and again,
like the words

you finally noticed
in the song you’ve played
one thousand times.

april’s last day haiku

twilight star balanced
on the last bit of mountain
promises us spring.

night is warm enough
for me now – the blanket light
around my shoulders.

the tire swing could not
fly any higher – with each
push they squeal it does.

green grass so still it
moves me, and underneath teems
every kind of life.

the longer I sit,
the more I understand the
relevance of trees.

something sacred rides
in on the voice of springtime’s
first solo cricket.