Clover

 
 
 

last of the clover—
 
picking three fragrant blossoms
 
for her morning tea

Shoe

 
 
 

cricket in her shoe
 
still chiming a morning song
 
as her foot slips in

Departing

 
 
 

not enough light left
 
for brushing on rice paper
 
even one haiku

Bloom

 
 
 

one of a kind—
 
the bloom on her left cheek
 
from his right hand

Endless

 
 
 

in the temple court
 
crickets chiming endless psalms
 
holy summer nights

Helpful

 
 
 

how helpful
 
to clinging mosses
 
rough oak skin

Kites

 
 
 

how blurry
 
without my glasses
 
the blue kites

Crumbs

 
 
 

offerings of crumbs
 
left outside the temple door
 
for wren and sparrow

Teatime

 
 
 

cracked demitasses—
 
teatime in Vladivostok
 
at a sad café

Longing

 
 
 

longing for someone
 
she seasons her potatoes
 
with a thousand tears