Haiku 365: March

#60: 3/1/2015
Platefuls of cookies.
One after another – love
soon becomes regret.

#61: 3/3/2015
Sail into knowledge,
sound the trenches of the mind.
Bring me back a map.

#62: 3/3/2015
Early hints of thaw:
fitful melting rivulets
run, and freeze again.

#64: 3/5/2015
Baby carrots, one
after another, leave tracks
in my hummus bowl.

#65: 3/5/2015
Lit-up rectangle
perched low, eager, on my desk,
show me today’s world.

#66: 3/7/2015
Table full of friends,
air full of sound, for a while.
Silence comes again.

#67: 3/7/2015
Driving home at night,
enclosed against a cold world.
Headlights in the dark.

#68: 3/10/2015
Fog crouches between
shadowed tree trunks, drifts across
snow fields, ghost of rain.

#69: 3/10/2015
Dishes clatter, some
clean, some yet to be, caught in
the kitchen’s bustle.

#70: 3/10/2015
Catching up on work:
paying procrastination
back with interest owed.

#71: 3/12/2015
Ten-year-old visits.
Her eyes wide with excitement,
she tells you her life.

#72: 3/12/2015
Cotton candy sun
drifts lazily behind trees,
smearing half the sky.

#73: 3/13/2015
Starting new project:
excitement explodes and soars;
hard work is high bliss.

#74: 3/14/2015
Messages from friends,
family: Happy Pi Day!
When did math get cool?

#75: 3/15/2015
Faithful computer
hums and grumbles and whispers.
Click-clack of the keys.

#76: 3/17/2015
Finishing project:
pleasure, mingled always with
dissatisfaction.

#77: 3/17/2015
Winter has melted.
Shivering grass blades gaze at
their forgotten star.

#78: 3/18/2015
I wrote, did some work,
ate a bagel, kissed Betsy.
This was a good day.

#79: 3/19/2015
Eyelids are sagging.
Such a sedentary day:
how can I be tired?

#80: 3/20/2015
Unhappy stomach,
victim of cupcake excess.
Have I learned nothing?

#81: 3/23/2015
After a green spell
winter reaches out again,
clutching what it lost.

#82: 3/23/2015
Hyphens, em dashes,
minus signs: a street gang of
horizontal lines.

#83: 3/23/2015
Went to bed last night
at four a.m. Got up at
seven-thirty. Zzzzz…

#84: 3/24/2015
Between waking life
and night, the dusky curtain
rustles, sad and gray.

#85: 3/27/2015
Noon drifts casually
by me, marked by a short lunch,
then quietly gone.

#86: 3/27/2015
These strings of letters
pile into words. Careful: you’ll
have a story soon.

#87: 3/27/2015
Trees without their coats
shiver through the birth of spring,
saving up their green.

#88: 3/30/2015
Dial back the years:
hold the photo, search the eyes
of your younger self.

#89: 3/30/2015
Gardens of regret
rotten with bad decisions,
weeds of might-have-beens.

#90: 3/30/2015
Prada hamburger;
bisect sternly atmosphere
minnow crouch descry.

#91: 3/31/2015
Fresh revelations
ascend nightly, luminous,
humming carelessly.

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