power failure—
the mockingbird
keeps on singing

Early spring warmth —
the cleaning lady shows me
her first tattoo

bonsai hall
we lower
our voices

quiet morning
the garden snails nibble
young radishes

kingfisher
a scent of willow hangs
in the air

morning haze
at the foot of the hill
forsythia

glass harmonica —
a chickadee listens
from the windowsill

conversation over
I touch a petal . . .
real blossoms

our boat drifts
under the bridge
nesting cormorants

a willowtip
touches the water . . .
sun-rings