first snow only a trace of gray in her hair
a falling leaf turns in midair into a butterfly	october more stars in the branches than yesterday	iris the path of the rain along its blade
mountain road a patch of nameless flowers stops the traffic	in her garden leaves have been falling since the funeral	a long way from home a stretch of the pier extends into the fog
a long day ahead waking up to the cries of departing geese	heavy rain squeezing itself into the gutter	broken vines hailstones the size of grapes
autumn school buses aligned along the sunset	court house a pregnant woman with a speeding ticket	evening shadows tomorrow the summer ends
nobody's home the answering machine not answering	moonlight shadows headlights turn a stooping witch into a mailbox	forest fire the orange sun struggling
darkening sky the seagull is rising with the wind	distant reflections the expressway is flooded with shimmering heat	strong wind a cow's tail horizontal
peak of the season — in the woods a bear is chased by the tourist crowd	geyser country the earth becoming the sky	racing to the summit the distant rain cloud finishes first
sleepless, I listen how it sticks to the windows the early autumn	the morning sun in the wrong window — detour	a tiny haiku the editor says he likes it a great deal
locked inside with a slam of the door the summer wind	bending over the stream the willow gently ripples its shade	the soldier's mother on her way to the mailbox this rainy evening
grown-up son, he once stopped in our small town to get a speeding ticket	after the funeral his voice still promises to call back	this paper cup was not meant to be held between my knees
hungry cat drums on the sliding door autumn rain	Saturday morning her dancing shoes by the door looking tired	today, meditating on a thousand-petal lotus I sneezed
from the mountain lodge watching the autumn sunrise wrapped in blankets	all flights canceled the airport tower blinks through the night	on the way from work — one by one, the streetlights go out Frogpond XXIII:1
through the closing gap between the woods and the sky they hurry south	sitting gracefully on the indifferent scarecrow my favorite jacket	Tibet behind mountains mountains
after the earthquake the Buddha and his smile detached	reading on the porch a tiny spider moves on to the next page	deeper and deeper into the winter forest the setting sun
early autumn the little girl next door turns forty today The Heron's Nest, November 2000	in the dense fog their thousand voices passing south	breaking the silence in a small town library the afternoon rain
almost rained that cloud now pierced by the sunlight	on a strip of white between two busy lanes a frog	moonlit pads water lilies hide the water
her little feet on the telephone book piano practice	waiting by the shower for the water to get warm she reads a book	Navy cemetery a sea of tombstones
sunset viewing canceled quietly by mosquitoes	distant lightning followed by the sound of a cricket The Heron's Nest, October 2000	climbing deeper into the canyon the rising sun
small pond a dragonfly glides across on a leaf	bridging the crowded party room our glances	Grand Canyon sound of the wind before the wind
ostrich skyscraper hiding its head in the cloud	afternoon heat boiling blossoms of lilac spill over the fence	misted mirror — of her Valentine heart irregular shape
meditating on the mountain top a rain cloud	across the canyon a raven glides underneath the sunset	measureless desert split in half by the cloud
sweeping along the bottom of the canyon the ghost of the river	a grocery bag across unpaved parking lot carrying the wind	dusk on the path scattered under my feet lights in the valley
morning by the pool my sleepy shadow hesitates on the bottom	over the canyon the raven's wings take the shape of the wind	lowering into the Grand Canyon the Big Dipper
full moon spread by the passing rain over the sidewalk	fading clouds reveal a mountain country such a relief	westbound the setting sun rides on the hood
summer afternoon the sentry keeps an eye on his shadow	squinting at the clock tower shadow the sentry tells the time	afternoon heat a new shift of royal guards freeze at the gate
hissing of spring sea stranded on sandy beach blends with the mist	clouds fragile islands in the blue	a shooting star over the spring sea a splash
scenic road meandering below the speed limit	taking off from the ocean rises the setting sun	a shooting star more lights on the islands
in the church vault an old woman's bent shadow	after Easter making a rainbow egg salad	a kayak crossing the summer sky on the luggage rack
shivering nudes grey brush over blue canvas a stroke of winter	after classes playing all by herself the piano teacher Frogpond XXII:2	festive church the solemn faces of the saints
a little boy glued to the telescope forgets to breathe	wind in a shadow play on the moon-silvered screens projections of fall	this willow tree has grown so fast, I had no time to brake
Easter lily gracefully passing by the barcode scanner Modern Haiku XXX:3	silent film in the beam of light dust Frogpond XXII:3	from the woods, firing volleys at the passing cars the setting sun
death on CNN live	swinging alone at the playground november wind	walks with a walkman a woman
sleepless night headlights drag leafless shadows across the ceiling	faint clouds a jet disappears behind the moon's glow	carefully making her bed around the slumbering cat
wet through the night sky gracefully escapes exhausted clouds	strings of the rain strained by the wind that blows brass of the trees	as fingers slip waxed paper off her smile his vision blurs
March in the country black cows and patches of fresh asphalt	spring morning awake in my shower a fly	in the rain-smeared window of the waiting room searching for answer
through the smudged glass until the baby's first breath holding mine	loose, their voices grow shrill in the hallway — deaf neighbors' children	tangled in the trees the setting sun loses its race with the night train
dressed for an interview — a stripper	alone in the alley a man starts laughing into his cell phone	winter sky after a shower still asleep
spring sun the snow looks warm	this early morning the moon is so blue, it must have an atmosphere	tiny Saturn in the telescope for my birthday
spring wind leaves falling off my desk	southeaster unsettled on my driveway a neighbor's trash bin	spring moon warm glow of your face Snapshots #6
same tired face between the curtains the full moon	spring flood sticking out of the water fishermen torsos	october sun vanishing in the mist shadow of the moose Snapshots #6
off the window sill down with the vase — the cat surprising thunder	scraps of the sunset shredded by leafless trees on hospital ceiling	with the sound of a jet fighter — this car, five miles back...
late fall ladybugs countless in the backyard global warming	where the school bus comes from the edge of the winter night turns yellow Frogpond XXII:2	she pulls and begs me for a puppy, but settles for a hot dog
wet, shape of a hand, red leaf on the windshield — have to pull over	down by the window, adream, still wouldn't believe this "Boeing" can fly	orange moon atop highway ramp, red sign says wrong way
in a dream, I've passed my exit Arizona	monks in the city hesitate at the fruit stand splashes of orange Snapshots #6	rustle in the bushes, still, chimes are silent... motion sensor light is on

(c) 1999-2000 arkady elterman