my journey begins—
Buddha becomes the pebble
lodged in my left shoe
Sick
sick of the journey
seeking refuge at day’s end
in a sad motel
Clowns
seven clowns tumbling
in a solitary place—
only one hand claps
Daisies
in a clear glass jar
three daisies picked this morning
by my youngest son
Scribbling
still five months away—
New Year’s Eve and little ones
scribbling in the snow
Flooding
my garden at dawn—
a shower of plum blossoms
flooding the footpath
Vanishing
Summer vanishes
as the school bell starts ringing,
despite the child’s cries.
Tomato
first ripe tomato
still cradling warmth from the sun—
honey on my tongue
Content
the old fruit seller
content to fondle lemons
and caress the plums
Echolocation
echolocation
leading bat mom to supper—
twice her weight in flies