acres of gold
fallen leaves hide
our childhood path

family reunion
a tablecloth
pops in the wind

drifting leaves
the postman
stops to talk

unemployed
withered leaves stop
beside me

        soles tender
against the gravel —
              starry night

persimmons
the last kid drops
from the monkey bars

the wind that once
        lifted your hair
here again today

No letter today . . .
Fog takes away the bend
in the road

evening sun —
the light and dark side
of each tree

moonlit clouds
over the native graveyard —
our feet deep into moss