Three haiku

and a note

This will be the last Dispatch until December or thereabouts as I take care of pressing personal matters, and a long overdue project.

See you in the winter—

Joseph

Exile

          The sparrows at dusk—
the dense chatter.     The darkness
emptying the room.


The Page

          Past midnight, I’m in
the mind of St. Aquinas—
lamplight       and silence.



Van Gogh 

          A wheat field writhing
like a flame.      The wind in the
drift of his pencil.