slanty sun on desk
my pencils are out of line
but words fall in

a chill in the air
where is my saxophone at?
band practice memories

full moon lights the sky
satiny glowing all over
while the clouds play tag


catskill mountain rain
rinsing, and rinsing again
soon I will be clear


There is a corner table at the Café Pick Me Up, made from a sewing machine cabinet. And there’s a little hinged door on the front of that cabinet, for storing bobbins and needles, I suppose. When I sit there, I put a haiku in that compartment, written at that moment on a small piece of paper. I usually never see it again. Sometimes it’s weeks before I’m at that table again.

There is sand in there and bits of grass - how that got in there I wonder. Sometimes there are gum wrappers.
Because no one cleans out the little compartment, when a poem disappears, I imagine someone liked it enough to want to take it with them. That is fine with me. The poem is a gift to whoever wants it.

The other day, I put this one in there:

Horses ride bareback
But they do not have nightmares
‘till they fall asleep

When I checked in the compartment a week or so later, I found two more little poems on the paper I put mine on. Here they are:

Gods & Mowhawks. Coffee
stained souls. All fair
creatures love at destiny’s gate.

Destiny’s sleep finds
Underlining the lying --
One’s slumber, infinite.

I was pretty impressed.

I took those poems and left another. When I returned a few days later, that poem was gone, and another poem of sorts was there in its place:


I never go to the Pick Me Up at night, so I assume this one was meant for someone else, someone who may have eventually found the literature intended for her. I left it in the compartment.