The following miscellaneous “Haiku from Index Cards” all start with the letter H.
hail on the skylight—
my horoscope says
to gain a new perspective
(written 2013, published 2019)
half moon—
a bear’s first step
into the ecotone
(written 2015, published 2018)
half moon
travelling with me
away from home
(written 2010, published 2015)
halves of a snake—
railroad tracks
gleam in the setting sun
(written 1998, published 2001)
handful of wet leaves—
a mouse’s white skeleton
curled into a ball
(written 1991, published 1992)
hands at four corners—
the slow drift of the blanket
down to fresh white sheets
(written 2001, published 2001)
hands up!
the bride’s bouquet
in mid air
(written 2002, published 2020)
harbour lights
the smell of fish
and fishermen
(written 1990 or earlier, published 1990)
hardened nipple—
the ice cube melts
between my lips
(date written unrecorded but 2016 or earlier, published 2017)
her birthday circled
on the lighthouse calendar
(written 2024, published 2009; published in 2018 with “long-distance bill” as a first line)
her castanets
on the mantel . . .
smell of spring rain
(written 1990, published 1998; last line originally said “smell of burning spruce”)
her chemo
caught in pictures
the fire’s embers
(written 2014, published 2024)
her deep breathing
tells me she’s asleep—
I straighten her stuffed animal
(written 2003, published 2005)
her depression depressing me
(written 2019, published 2019)
here in the lint screen
the care label
of the ruined shirt
(written 1995, published 2001)
hermit crab—
out of its shell
out of itself
(written 1990, published 2007; for Nick Virgilio)
heron rookery—
on our silent walk
you reach for my hand
(written 2014, published 2023)
her swollen head . . .
the astrologer
seeing stars
(written 1990, published 1991)
his death haiku
tied to the kite string—
wild grasses
(written 2017, published 2017; see “From Jumble Box”)
hoar frost—
the shape of the garden
you used to tend
(written 2007, published 2016)
hollow steps
worn into the fallen redwood . . .
a gentle spring rain
(written 2001, published 2013)
Hollywooden
(written 2013, published 2018)
home from the redwoods—
all my pictures
are vertical
(written 2012, published 2013)
homeless shelter—
footprints in frozen mud
from last night’s queue
(written 2012, published 2013)
home on Christmas Eve—
the street-corner santa
unbuttons his shirt
(written 1998, published 2003; see “Haiku Christmas Cards”)
horsetail clouds
the moon
the river makes
(written 2015, published 2022)
hospital courtyard . . .
a bookmark left
on the wooden bench
(written 2013, published 2020)
hummingbird at the window
—my blink
startles it away
(written 1993, published 2004)
hush of the crowd—
a penalty flag
on the final touchdown
(written 2012, published 2022)