As I walk down misty, cherry-tree-lined city sidewalks, I think of Ezra Pound's "In a Station of the Metro":

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Although it does not obey the formal rules of haiku, this poem, I was taught, is a haiku in spirit: It starts with one vivid, simple image, and then turns on a dime to another equally vivid, equally simple image. You, the reader, are caught at the pivotal point, looking back and forth between the two, slowly learning how one thing led to the other.

But instead of moving from the faces to the petals, as the poem does, I do the reverse: From a multitude of fallen petals to pale, anonymous faces in a crowd.