Pruning Haiku

I posted versions of these haiku before. But it is summer now, so they need pruned. So here are pruned versions of the same haiku.


vacant lot
wildflowers
holding someone’s



red balloon
in a cemetery
holds its breath


evening
shadows
night picks up


in the woods
a snake passes 
I pass myself


snake skin
deep woods
time sheds 



deep woods
your time 
holds my hand


everything 
borrowed light
speaking



long after
the reflection
the 



Kato Shuson
the wildflowers
grenades


garden 
then let go–
shapes entwine


raging sea
one soft spot
in a boulder



empty coffee cup
one continent
pushes another




her desk’s peeled orange–
a skyscraper
sways in wind



manhole steam
in the night things 
not words



bird’s snow trill
wasted flutes
my bones



a dragonfly
energy
on a hot tombstone


morning diner
the waitress pours coffee
from another lifetime



iced window
my reflection
is away


diner parking lot
sparrows kill time
until McDonald’s



mark on glass
from a dog’s nose
not sure which side



the wind–
a child’s
half-finished drawing



winter diner
a waitress forgets
Proust’s name 



starfish–
a blind hand
shows you its teeth



the morning
pretends to be 
again again



orphaned train car
spring nestlings
with new hair


a stone
your starkness
fuzzy in my mind



one room schoolhouse
a wasp trapped
in local history


peach fuzz
some get turned on
by armor


distant train
from a bathtub you say
you won’t say



winter diner
nothing young 
but the sparrows




birds then trains
morning sounds
meet in silence



a houseplant grows
largely ignoring
nonessential input



funeral hands
people touch people
as autumn does



airplane overhead
sound waves 
want out