Cargo

down a mountain path

the donkey bears its cargo—

departing autumn

Butterfly

gate to the garden

sagging on rusty hinges

butterfly slips in

the tick of chopsticks

fishing strawberry slivers

from a wooden bowl

in their busyness

I lift my feet to miss them—

ants crossing my path

a fleck of pastry

clinging to her lower lip—

breakfast on the run

buttercups

wilting in a jar

old man sighs

in this mountain spring

windsong and watersong meet

mingling note with note

The same wooden boat

cradling my father’s ashes

holds a butterfly.

naked in the grass

she sniffs her rich aroma—

rivulets of sweat

hiking round the rim

of Capulin Volcano—

easy prey for bugs