OUT THE TRAIN WINDOW 12 Haiku

Junkyard weeds

have flowered

purple, yellow, red.

 

 

A child watches

our thundering progress

to our desks.

 

 

No wind:

sheets and shirts

lifeless on the line.

 

 

A man bends

with reverence into

the jaws of his car.

 

 

Pigeons nest

within the burned-out

house.

 

 

Holding a stone—

which of us

angers him?

 

 

The wind ripples

the grass, as a cat’s fur

shivers.

 

 

Lovers, shoulder

to shoulder, share a secret

or a kiss.

 

 

Brown leaves

cover the field in all

directions.

 

 

A dog chases

the train. And if

he catches us?

 

 

Bright windows:

the eyes

of dark houses.

 

 

Across the moon

a hawk is gliding.

Mice, beware!

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One comment

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