The crow in the tree
    is actually
a black trash bag.

Squeaky bike brakes
      sound like chirping
September crickets.

The bug on the sidewalk
     casts a long shadow:
September sunshine.

I open the front door:
     a fly I didn't know
about flies out.

I open the door.
     The sweet fall air comes inside.
          The stink goes outside.

In the middle of midnight,
     night and morning kiss and part;
parting is such sweet sorrow.

summer's last full moon:
     silent trees, a grassy hill,
          crickets, black & white

——> %&#@ $
     777⁷ ☆ ■○°▪︎□ – ¢
          *¿°  ₩¥€ £
            ~

cool morning
     garbage truck sings
to a steel wool sky

There was an Old Man of Japan
Whose lim-er-icks never would scan.
     When they said, "What the fu?"
     He replied, "They're haiku!"
That Irish Old Man of Japan.

          Summerlight sunflight—
     singsonging songbirds singing,
winging blue heaven.