herb garden
your scent follows me
all the way home
until
the dog and i
spring peepers
spring evening
a bottle of wine
short of perfect
riverbank
what sunset makes
of us
smoke downriver
crows change direction
in a dead pine
cicada
a pot of chives
heavy with sound
brushwork
the forest accepts
my fingertips
almost dawn
a fish jumps into
my quiet moment
all this talk
of persimmons
evening ripens
six decades
in my tea bowl
sunset deepens
i wonder
what the blossom feels
first butterfly
dead dragonfly
through his wings
my life line
gradual rain
an empty bucket
changes tune
tree shadows
my bath grows cool
with moonlight
a bowl of fruit
the emptiness
on easter eve
