first hour
staring at
hertz parking

at last
she sits down.
simply

leaving poke marks
on season’s first snow
this morning’s rain

haiku notes
stain with every drop
of melting snow

in first snow
my joyful heart reveals
quieter moments

gray clouds floating across
revealing a true blue sky
reflects color within

inside my tent
crickets are singing
perhaps my dreams

holiday season
on the trail
every thing is pale

at the crossroads
song blare in 3 languages
i follow them all

shifting sands
and blowing wind
- just like my thoughts

in the mist
eucalyptus grove
stands silent

soft thud
of the melting snow
then quiet again

echo in this quiet
my whistle carrying far
followed by jingles

in the dark shadow
of the trickling stream
a dead spider

on the rock
different place
same old feeling

stare at reflection
concave on flush handle
while i take a pee

lady in saree
solicits travelers with
spirtual solace

this morning
woke up early
same sun in my face

in the shadows
of the massive boulder
my lost shadow

tracing the first snow
with our soft footprints
our paths meet

in my neighbor’s yard
snowman slowly meting down
to warm winter days

orchids on the window
silent and gently swaying
to the rain outside

sleepless nite
cesaria evora
very soothing

shifting sands keeping
pace with the blowing wind
just like random thoughts

washing my t shirt
off eight days of body sweat
to impress no one

squished up in my bag
cherry tomatoes for soup
among spilled lentils

with every step
the gurgling brook
turns quieter

brushing my legs
fresh rain drops
ah!! so cool

new strangers
across the coffee table
next guy still yaking

face tattooed
that guy walking the road
rocks the conversation

teenagers
necking in public
over book of tattoos

9:20
the sweet looking girl
still won’t look at me

reading senryu
i think of my parents
heading back to india

beautiful faces
everywhere
smile on my face

that stranger
walking with her coffee “to go”
looks like suzanne vega

my bladder inflates
with an urge to pee
with every yawn

talking Art Post Modern
on her filmsy t shirt
old friends

two Indians
walk across quickly
banana republic bags in hand

in shadows of rocks
lone mallard
swims in circles

nestled in cracks
of the canyon purple blooms
whispers in the wind

staring at blue sky
across the white tarpaulin
i spy plane due here