contemplating Mount
St. Helen's shape she lets the
cigarette ash fall

the sun free
of clouds

Mount Hood floats
in the garden's horizon
a rose petal falls

in a drink
ice settles

interrupting
the meditation
wind-chimes

the haiku group
more still

revered master -
in the Japanese Gardens
her voice grows stronger

forty-eight ways
to see a birch

eyes roving the rich
shades of green turn again
to a patch of red

pink shimmer
in the water

a carp's open mouth
gulps something
unseen

sightseer's children
shriek

a ten-year-old
throws rocks
at the Zen garden

the serenity of
tiny, perfect gravel

a water-strider
pops bubbles where the water
trickles the loudest

sunlight and shadows
in equal play

as the sun sinks
Mount Hood settles
on a skyscraper

the poet's hair
turns rose

completely naked
the little girl in the fountain
sticks out her tongue

no foam on the
cloudy beer

in the wait for refills
gossip slakes
our thirst

we harp
on the harp

wandering the streets
the four of us - Basho
Buson, Issa and Shiki

we search for
shiitake mushrooms

at Jakes's Amazing Crawfish
the Dutch New Yorker orders
finnan haddie

twilight crowds
the window

martini glass
green olives, red pimento
shades of the day

only three of us left -
the oldest

the two men debate
reputations
she cracks crawfish shells

waiting to be emptied
full ashtray

we leave arm-in-arm
for the street where now vacant -
eyed men loiter

no poets in the lobby
the lounge barred

fingers keep hitting
the "open" button
as good-byes linger

in our room
two green mints

sore feet
only one of us gets
the massage

ay, there's the rub
and dreams do come

(Composed in Toronto, the afternoon of July 31st while gardening)