Haiku

At First

          At first the house seems 
  quiet, then I notice I'm
          the one who's humming.


          Didn't notice the
  sky--except to think later,
          what color was that?


          Lisa walks in while
  I'm writing this poem, then the 
          dogs walk in, yawning.




Human Being

          Muddy feet, muddy
  legs, muddy belly--and jays
          bitching branch to branch.


          Cup's empty. Tea's gone.
  Someone drank it, but I don't 
          remember a thing



Ego

          The puppy jumps up
  to bark, then runs back to see
          if I've noticed him.




Bright Afternoon

          There's so much light that
  even gnats make me wonder
          about my scruples.


          Groans standing up and
  groans laying down. Middle-aged:
          friends are all doctors.


          Word to word finding 
  a way. And with each step the
          path mattering less.


          What happens behind
  my eyelids comes and goes but
          not coming, not going.


          Sometimes we notice
  the birds and sometimes we don't.
          It's a big dumb world.


          There to my left, as
  I downshifted, a stand of 
          oaks and three bluejays.


          That oak gnaws upward
  day by day: passing by, we
          say it's beautiful.