morning frost
a monk’s chant
crosses the river

stalagmites
a passel of school children
up ahead

autumn leaves . . .
in the book she gave me
an old library stamp

autumn gust
the starlings’ wings
tilt in unison

withered juniper —
mother’s hair
       since the nursing home

village temple —
kids behind the gods
playing hide and seek

through endless rain
the whistle
of the paperboy

the taste of cider
when fallen leaves begin
to overlap

bustling shoppers —
the bell ringer’s
prosthetic hand

winter solstice . . .
smoothing a folded corner
in my library book