Tanka 4.18.21

nearly 2 am
your fingertips trickling
alongside my spine
a low rumble of thunder
rain taps against the window

Haiku 4.17.21

spiderweb of veins

silvered underside of leaf

the back of my hand

Haiku 4.16.21

The evening sun slips
behind the yet leafless trees
shadow silhouettes

Haiku 4.15

robins congregate

along the mud puddle’s edge

fluffing damp feathers

Haiku 9 4.13

I spent the morning

Wondering if the earth spins

From flat bottomed clouds

Haiku 8 4.12

as dawn fades quickly
a songbird cacophony
dueling serenades

Haiku 7

rain on the window
your soft snores a counterpoint
to rolling thunder

Haiku 6

among the dried leaves
a plethora of violets
softly shouting spring

Haiku 5

sweeping from the south

fat raindrops mottle my shirt

a burst of cold breeze

Thinking of pi

Irrationally, I thought about pi today:

How it stretches out infinitely,

refusing to be compartmentalized.


It wove in and out of my thoughts

while I unpacked

single servings of groceries and

scrubbed only my dirty footprints

out of the bottom of the tub.


The concentric circles reached out

from the pebbles you dropped

from the bridge apex,

propagating endlessly into the cattails

surrounding the waters edge.


You watch them

as I walk alone the trail

circumscribing the perimeter

until it overlaps, a Möbius strip,

and the pathway leads back to you.

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