The sun fey,
But not sad?
And sky, too?
Can you say
Did she eat?
Mad you are,
And why not
Sun and caw
Hokku or haiku are a secretive bunch
As three lines cost a penny a thought,
If watching a heron is outmoded hokku,
To contend with one is to have or be:
Rooms with hokku are anything but.
Beyond Nihonbashi, hipsters write haiku
each day ends like the last workshop—
hard against the real,
The rest is known
of everything that survived