her bus to the South
I wave and wave and wave
until nothing is left
except the scent of her kiss
lingering in the spring air
the smoke
from my returned letters
curls up
the corners
of the darkest summer day
autumn twilight
a black bird lands
on my windowsill
lamenting, Nevermore
I reply with tearful eyes
the snow moon
elopes with stars
darkness
penetrates the attic
ablaze in loneliness
spring mist
makes all houses one
the joy
of this man
alone in the attic
Haiku Canada Review 5:2, October 2011