Zen Haiku

Poem 5301

aging…
the last pie apples
our tree will bear

sun across our path
Laurel sits brightly
in front of the canoe

ice-cube jugs
sweating our night out
in the patio heat

her fifteenth
I loosen the time home
on our daughter

building a snowman
our neighbour’s clarinet
beneath the quiet

of smells re-called
grandpop’s raked and burning
piles of leaves

seaside jog
I follow the shapes
the dawn runs to

autumn turned
the Maples got naked
before I knew it

guessing the size
of a shooting star…
our dog slips his leash

awake! drowning!
the pool of moonlight
through our bedroom pane