Haibuns

I

Riff at the Zoo

It was a hot city evening; the bar was set up
next to the fenced lion’s cage, bottles clanking,
all knuckle bumps and laughter from the crew.
The band was ready, a long steady stream
of smoke drifted down from the thin drummer,
red overhead lights flashed along the walkways.
It was a 70’s cover band, a huge moneymaker
for the zoo, the louder the better for the crowd.
So many more monkeys could be brought in,
perhaps a cheetah or two, a valued experience
to be remembered, like how the kid looks into
the drooped eyes of a camel. A brief haunting
stare-down for one who may never venture far
from home. But he sees too how the elephant,
head bent, slouches at the gravel edges while
gray wolves howl against the concrete walls.

Through the crowded air
the young elephant shivers
in fear and despair

II

Deer Path Home

Twenty of them, four dead in the ditches,
sixteen leaping back and forth in a mid-day
heat across the narrow road, with woodland
behind them and promise across and beyond
the trees, tangled, like the thick hair of a woman
who drives the curves from the dark Northland
to a city lit up with old fears, a hometown she
must dodge. She must remember that quiet
attention is how to avoid those bodies hurled
her way, to always be ready for the unseen
jolt yet to accept the thrill of the miss, as well as
what still might cross the winding path ahead.

Follow the promise
the green scent of what’s ahead
the mystery of chance

III

The Best Seat

In the pale river of green, the turkeys
negotiate the pines, and high above,
geese, cranes, jays, and mourning
doves compose today’s early music.
A single woman sits in the front row,
the bright lights on stage are dimmed
and no other human is seated near, nor
breathing in this melodic air. On stage
the back curtain flutters in close tempo
with the wind. How many floating grays
are there in those folds? And now a bee
in the row behind her is humming along,
and out in the lobby someone practices
off-note scales. Stage left, shots are fired
an airplane drones, a semi downshifts,
but she has a front row ticket so settles in.

In the orchestra
the winged musicians prepare
today’s free concert

IV

Forty Percent Chance

There is little movement, only a lone swallow dips
above the stalks of Prairie, air neither hot nor cool,
a stillness against the wilder thoughts of tomorrow.
Three sudden ducks, black flaps against mixed gray,
perhaps a calm before what’s to come and yet there
is no forecast of a stronger expectation, neither push
nor pull except in the landscape of color: eye pulling
the green woodland closer, ear pushing a blue speck
up against the purply shades of cedar, fir and pine.
And swiftly comes a breeze that pulls a mist down.

Push and pull of light
ignore laws of perspective
where no one travels

V

Left Behind

Lone Oak alive in the low midst of Prairie,
all around buzzing with chatter. Why did they
take away his relatives and old friends, why
did they leave him here to stand alone in this
odd, flowering diversity where the owl hides
in the fractured branches, where bluebirds
alight and winged orange insects flicker on
and off into autumn’s wind, where a broken
wood barn leans in the distance daring him
to remember the loud men with sharpened
saws and noisy horses. He watches them
even today loading and wrapping the wood
for the camps. He can only hope his family
is honored with fire, song, dance or story.
He misses the old leaf rattle and murmur.

Story and song build
in the burnt branches of trees
sparks of natives dance