under the boardwalk
the deep timbre
of the cop’s voice

stillborn calf
one windmill
not turning

pink petals
she chooses
a lighter lip gloss

diplomat's child—
she draws her houses
with wings

so many cars
illegally parked—
policeman's funeral

summer road trip
a change in mood
with the top up

one more story
stars glow in the dark
above her bed

cormorant's wake
she chides me for not
wearing my ring

    reading a poem
of urbane intelligence
      how dead it is

taut strands
of the barbed wire fence . . .
so much left unsaid

O what the hell
haiku poet finally
kills the fly