37 Haiku

Old-fashioned shadows hanging down, that difficulty in love too soon
 
Some star or other went out, and you, thank you for your book and year
 
Something happened in the garage and I owe it for the blood traffic
 
Too low for nettles but it is exactly the way people think and feel
 
And I think there’s going to be even more but waist-high
 
Night occurs dimmer each time with the pieces of light smaller and squarer
 
You have original artworks hanging on the walls oh I said edit
 
You nearly undermined the brush I now place against the ball field arguing
 
That love was a round place and will still be there two years from now
 
And it is a dream sailing in a dark unprotected cove
 
Pirates imitate the ways of ordinary people myself for instance
 
Planted over and over that land has a bitter aftertaste
 
A blue anchor grains of grit in a tall sky sewing
 
He is a monster like everyone else but what do you do if you’re a monster
 
Like him feeling him come from far away and then go down to his car
 
The wedding was enchanted everyone was glad to be in it
 
What trees, tools, why ponder socks on the premises
 
Come to the edge of the barn the property really begins there
 
In a smaller tower shuttered and put away there
 
You lay aside your hair like a book that is too important to read now
 
Why did witches pursue the beast from the eight sides of the country
 
A pencil on glass—shattered!  The water runs down the drain
 
In winter sometimes you see those things and also in summer
 
A child must go down it must stand and last
 
Too late the last express passes through the dust of gardens
 
A vest—there is so much to tell about even in the side rooms
 
Hesitantly, it built up and passed quickly without unlocking
 
There are some places kept from the others and are separate, they never exist
 
I lost my ridiculous accent without acquiring another
 
In Buffalo, Buffalo she was praying, the nights stick together like pages in an old book
 
The dreams descend like cranes on gilded, forgetful wings
 
What is the past, what is it all for?  A mental sandwich?
 
Did you say, hearing the schooner overhead, we turned back to the weir?
 
In rags and crystals, sometimes with a shred of sense, an odd dignity
 
The boy must have known the particles fell through the house after him
 
All in all we were taking our time, the sea returned—no more pirates
 
I inch and only sometimes as far as the twisted pole gone in spare colors