entering autumn,
the laborer’s son
chasing ducks
twilight dawn ...
hanging yesterday’s dreams
on the clothesline
her calloused fingers
cushioned with desire
... autumn moon
autumn coolness ...
raccoons weave a tapestry
out of moonlight
staring at you from
the crevice of a dream ...
autumn rain
late afternoon
... a shadow-play
of deer
humid night ...
the quiet hum of
a passing bus
beneath my window,
a snail
... in no hurry
wearing a cloud
around his loins,
mahatma moon
this morning,
in a different light . . .
a dewdrop!
this waning moon . . .
my neighbor in
the doorway crying
the moon appears
between my legs,
less stoic than usual
the image her
shadow left in the
crevice of a dream
the sound of a river
passing
through moonlight . . .
in the rice field,
drinking darkness
from cone hats
