Forty-second Saturday

Gull turns head, looks back,

Sits like floating crescent moon,

White on blue water.

Bright sun, chill north wind.

First time in this waning year

Jacket feels too light.

River’s sharp ripples,

Helicopter’s rattling thrum,

Shaking, fraying leaves.

Categories: Blog / Tags: haiku, sj rozan

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SJ Rozan