Now I know…
Heaven laughs at meSpitting rain into my face,Says I’m not in charge...
silent monks pass beggar’s offering-bowl — spilling emptiness
there is nothing morerewarding with one writingit is love…
blare of sunlight shines over blinding white sand — funeral headlights
ignore my wordsbecause when I write I am just being a poet.
An American Haiku
bouncing withthe breeze — ripening plums