Almost Haiku: Seventeen

Autumn path through leaves

Path through leaves

light feet

forgetting hurry.

Shadow Garden

shadow of a man under a tree black and white

Meet me in the shadow garden

when the last yellow window falls asleep.

Tiptoe past the lilac

and the nameless flowers of the night.

Wear a long rustling dress

let your hair loose

come barefoot.

But don’t bring your words with you,

not even a greeting.

Words are what people make

when they try to understand one another.

We know better than to talk

when the night is quiet

and the world is dark.

Come here in this windy nook

which midnight has forgotten.

Remember what you were

before things had names.

The longing that you bring

is the distant cry

of an unseen bird.

And our embrace

is the alchemy of matter

transcending its place.

A Window Without a Face

Have you ever passed under the window

of an old, abandoned house?

Have you ever looked up,

yearning for a beautiful face

on the other side of the glass?

Something about once proud houses

now fallen into ruin

that makes you slow down your step.

A family once lived there.

A man or a woman built it with hope.

They are gone now.

They have rented it indefinitely to the silence and the cold.

Once proud, now falling apart, an old house weathers the storm waiting to be sold.

It weeps rain through the roof

It shivers through the cracked windows

It gathers dust.

Walk softly by it

so you won’t disturb the ghosts

who glance at you from the crumbling window

even as you go.

Who secretly wish you were the one

who will finally climb up the steps

and open the door.