Embedded Files
The following miscellaneous “Haiku from Index Cards” all start with the letter D.
dark alley—
click of a blade
as I pass
(written 1997, published 2008)
dark alley—
the street bum gives me
a wide berth
(written 2011, published 2016)
dashing from your car
summer hail
streaks my shirt
(written 1993, published 1994; a more accurate term here would have been “graupel”)
date night we argue over which romantic comedy to watch
(written 2013, published 2018)
daughter off to college
the hamster’s grave
unmarked
(written 2021, published 2022; see “Born Free” rengay)
dawn redwood roots
the tangle of dendrites
where I love you
(written 2009, published 2010)
day labourers
gathered at the Goodwill—
the dripping awning
(written 2002, published 2004)
daylight saving time—
clock shop owner
in to work early
(written 1994, published 2001)
death anniversary—
his mouth
still open
(written 2015, published 2024)
December commute—
I catch the yawn
of the driver beside me
(written 2010, published 2016)
December flurries—
in the airplane magazine
a half-finished crossword
(written 1995, published 2006)
deepening debt—
snow along the rim
of the clay flower pot
(written 2007, published 2018)
deepening winter—
a light turns out
upstairs at the hospice
(written 2020, published 2020)
deep woods . . .
the reflecting pond isn’t still
when I sit long enough
(written 2014, published 2024)
dense fog—
a Christmas song
from the carillon
(written 1993, published 1995)
dense morning fog
paddles dripping, we drift
among loon calls
(written 1996 or 1997, published 2017; see “Rhythmic Breathing” haibun)
departing plane—
a strand of her hair
on the car seat
(written 1996, published 2000; compare with the following poem, written four years earlier)
departing taxi—
the long strand of hair
on my pillow
(written 1992, published 1994)
descending plane—
my sudden reflection
in the video screen
(written 2000, published 2015; see “The Mended Shōji” sequence)
deserted beach—
a bikini top
rolls in on a wave
(written 1991, published 1992)
deserted park hail on the chessboard
(written 2000, published 2006)
desert wind—
the immigrant gravestone
worn smooth
(written 1992, published 2020)
desolate beach
snow starts to cling
to a little toy boat
(written 2012, published 2013)
dew on the morning paper—
grass blades
unbending
(written 1999, published 2002)
diagnosis . . .
from sky to sea
November rain
(written 2019, published 2019)
diagnosis . . .
no way
to know your thoughts
(written 2012, published 2013)
directing traffic a line of ducklings
(written 2014, published 2021)
discussing steaks new vegetarians
(written 1992, published 1993)
dissipating mist—
a man with a red gas can
walking the freeway
(written 1996, published 2003)
doodles
in an old phone book
around suicide numbers
(written 1993, published 1998)
double rainbow—
she starts her story
over again
(written 2012, published 2013)
downtown rain
the jazzman
plays his sax
(written 1990, published 1991)
drifting snow—
a misspelling
in the church sign
(written 2011, published 2011; see “Racha Renku”)
dripping from the gutter,
autumn rain
spins the bicycle pedal
(written 1991/1992, published 1993)
drought-brown hills—
the windmill’s shadow
fans the road
(written 1991, published 1992)
dust-devil smell—
an appaloosa fills the shade
of trembling aspens
(written 1993, published 1998)
dust hovers above the road at sunset
(written 1991/1992, published 1993; a parody of a one-liner by Cor van den Heuvel; see “Parodies, Homages, Allusions”)
dust
settling at last
dusk
(written 1990, published 1991)
dusty attic—
the old rocking horse
without any eyes
(written 2011, published 2011)
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