fat moon
through every window
bull frogs

morning alarm —
father’s face
floats away

barely awake . . .
my first steps
flush pheasant

spring dawn
my cup
full of river

soft breeze
the weaver bird loops
a blade of grass

cake crumbs —
the balloons leak
my breath

morning moon —
the mouse
on a small branch

layers of mountains —
echoing boom of the blue
                      grouse

a willow shoot
between river stones
morning light

the petals still creased
on a fresh primrose . . .
Moving Day