the mountain pine —
      holding the light,
            held by it

“Bill’s Day” —
draw the letters
in aspen-glow

a little cold
and without the bright fish
this golden pond

gray October
the poet’s voice
outlives him

full moon
and so my thoughts
turn to you

vest pocket park
the leaves a little
less brilliant

at his passing —
a ripple in the river
of stars

misty shroud —
leaves falling
between the rails

sunset fades
from the highest peak —
autumn chill

Higginson’s haiku
still among the living;
the autumn wind