Empty

I hope the following “Haiku from Index Cards” might be filling.

empty beach—

sandpiper tracks

end at the bicycle track

             (written 2016, published 2017; see “For the Birds” rengay)

empty café—

another noun

verbing the noun

             (written 2013, published 2019; see “Haiku Lessons” sequence)

empty café—

he hangs a spoon

on the waitress’s nose

             (written 1993/1998, published 1998; see “From The New Haiku”)

empty cardboard box

scuds across the sidewalk

by the pet shelter

             (written 1993, published 1998)

empty crib—

new baby clothes

neatly folded

             (written 2011, published 2012; see “Stages 1” tan-renga)

empty field

a hay rack

collecting tumbleweeds

             (written 1989, published 1989; this was the first time one of my haiku placed in a contest, here with an honourable mention)

empty field

a rusted thresher

gathering wildflowers

             (written 1990, published 1991)

empty graveyard

      a shovel-full falls

            in the drizzle

             (written 1990, published 1990)

empty middle-school lot

my daughter’s first drive

             (written 2022, published 2022; see “Are We There Yet?” rengay)

empty rest area—

a rip through the face

of the most-wanted poster

             (written 2009, published 2009; see “Pine Needle” renku)

empty seats

in the all-night diner . . .

the crooked painting

             (written 1992, published 1998)

empty silo—

      spring wind pops the metal

            in and out

             (written 1990, published 1991)

empty tissue box—

       the late movie

       in black and white

             (written 1995, published 2005)