Our Aft’noon/Eve In Haiku

Stacked-stones mossify,
fadesome inscriptions borne.
Ice-stream air; monastic village.

Roots rise;
water falls;
Autumn leaves.

Ducks duck their beak-led heads,
here where
the lake’s submerged this bench.

Me: Ravioli (Must’ve been tinned!).
You: Zipzapped ready-meal.
Us: Hotel dinner.

Phone light frames
where walking-boots will tread.
A bat in sound-search flight.

Ghosts of other solar systems…
Your flick’ring fire?
The banshee’s cry.

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