Haiku:

hiking new forests
mountain homes of moss and dew
more roots deepen

berries ripe
dot taiga heath--
alien planet

yellow blazing sun
'packin'rocks'
from maine to georgia

pain born hero
in oven boots of blood and pus--
summit breeze

barefoot hiker
calls herself 'FearNot'--
toes enjoy same mud

snake rises up
fangs gleam at water lair
cold spring quenches all

***** at each view--
water comes in and goes out
like a filter

at waterfalls, swans
alighting air-- noble poise
on the way to sea

gunas intertwine
my sweet mountain hunger paths
bitter taste of bark

sour grass
garnish of an earthen tract
saliva honeyed

strands of spider flight --
i too catch myself making
web after web

"nature loves to hide"
hidden hermit roars of all
strife and fire flux

spider bite at dusk
afterswing of scenting food
shoo the meal away

change becomes the same--
people streams talking pixels
aging static web

symbols set in light
speed of optic living nodes;
clicking finger fibers

websites spin and stick
plastic tropical alphabets
ant waves clean the keys

fueling in process,
living fossils already
drilling seas--on earth

give or take six months,
happy birthday!
two seasons gone

Haibun:*

A mountain poet has come to the city, blisters pushing up his toenails. His smile spans 15 blocks of concrete and rebar. Strangers coo to see his sunshine gait but cough at his aroma. Hospitality is found after all, in parks and in the drunken streams from clubs gregarious for midnight novelties.

poet's apology--
not exactly 'myself' to
license gratitude
when time gifts symbols distance--
terror war towers still fall

Emergencies of all sorts force their way into my mind, as I live, sometimes as I write. Ambiguities serve as fulcrum nooks for meanings incompossible to hide, not being ready to share what can't be shared, obscurity offers the ineffable reprieve to be spoken nonetheless.

peering in the word--
sound signs meta symbol
witty sea of *****

property stings
abstract fights to earth
mixing labor

i found a haiku
on my coworker's desk--
where is the frog pond?

dad drinks alone--
photo recalls sunlit leaf
and beer can stare

opining fire false
freezing hearts with argument--
cold spring, winters warm

It is with the love of a child that I write, wincing harder into that self-given 'Indian-Burn' of cathartic fetish and psychological indulge. Where is maturity, and what use is it when faced with endless ground-zeros? Still open to answers, still unwilling to speak plainly or straight about the blanket crookedness and blissful meander that colors life most vividly. I imagine dacrygelosis understood.

thawing pond
creaks in headstand calm--
autumn air released

night's insight pierce
heralds migraine's ease--
gong of moon or sun

on dead wood, against
live trees, hours of *** by
mycelia blooms--
fragrant rot and sweat collide
skin spotted with forest sun

love signs everywhere--
two trunks spiraled
in a yellow wood

vocal awe resung
this is love! this is love!
deep summer fruit

rub of bark                      
vast forest sways across skin
                        naked expanse