Matrix Haiku

the waterfall’s spray

wets my sunglasses—

vacation alone

circles of rain—

tied-up yachts

chumming together

the mayor’s speech . . .

flecks of rust

beneath the anchor

long day—

the shadows of salt grains

on the café table

pea-soup fog—

your lighthouse keychain

lighting the roadmap

trackless shore—

the pock of a shell

dropped onto stones

out of breath . . .

a stunted pine

at the trail’s summit

low tide—

stones still wet

for discovery

spring breeze—

the tree’s penumbra

a lighter green

still night . . .

the sound of plums

beginning to bloom

distant dinner bell—

one more time

through the labyrinth

you gave me this ring

on a day like today . . .

snow about to fall

forest clearing—

swaying leaves bring to mind

a guitar solo