You Can Almost See Color Above the Marshes, In the Trees, The Sky
You Can Almost See, As the Earth Cools, The Colors Of our Rising Dreams
Street Signs Shining Like Beacons for Navigating Ambiguous Shores
Calling Out to Us To Journey, To Set Out, Not Knowing Where we Go
Another Winter’s Dawn Drawn in Symphonies of Gray And Played in Silence
Cloudy and Colder The Day Settles in Like a Bad Weather Forecast
No Fog to Soften Tattered Winter Edges or Curbside Frozen Trash
But Night Falls, Clouds Clear, Full Moon Lights the Lake. A Passing Fox Pauses to Watch
From Every Street Lamp A Drifting Winter Fog Pulls A Pale Cone of Light
A Morning Fog Floats, Quiet as a Silent Prayer, Into the Tree Tops
A Fog That Softens All Sight and Sound and Maybe All We Think We Know
Snowflakes Drifting Down, Gently as Forgiveness, to Shroud Every Sharp Edge.
Morning Mist, No Breeze, The Sound of a Leaf Falling, Cries of Unseen Geese
A Year in Haiku 