Almost dawn

almost dawn
she senses his coming
tiptoeing to their room
a strange perfume
ushers him in

from my book,
Haiku and Tanka Harvest

Last bus

last bus

his welcome flowers

start wilting

on the now

empty bench

Waiting

almost dawn
an empty bottle
near the phone

The Heron’s Nest
Vol. VIII, No. 4, December 2006