home from vacation . . .
houseflies find
the open door

a new school year —
one long blast
of the bus driver’s horn

fall migration
streaks of purple loosestrife
through the marsh

evening glories —
should I complain about my life
like Hisajo?

she lets go of my hand . . .
the stars
without a constellation

family reunion . . .
patches of fog
on the horizon

drought’s end —
a boatman’s song starts
the wadi babbling

Fossil stone
     skipping it
         the same

graveside
my father and I
find common ground

almost soundless
the slowing stream
heavy with autumn