full moon
I eat everything
including the orchid

autumn rain —
only an earthenware
teapot will do

first rain
a child’s paper boat
caught in the drain cover

bird song
between blows
of the axe

deep creek
my father considers
retirement

we talked
    until moonset —
        crickets

I stop looking
for the sunrise —
first sip of tea

The boy
taught not to cry —
white chrysanthemums

slow-moving river
a heron’s neck
enters the grey

cold moon . . .
a rising wave splashes
the taste of salt