Imagination

a new year begins

in my imagination

every plan bears fruit

Dye

From the maple tree

how many red leaves must fall

to dye the river?

fox in the barley

pausing between bloody bites

to lick his whiskers

one sigh of hoarfrost

settling on a spider’s web

an hour before dawn

midnight pillow talk

between the crow and raven—

you are black like me

sweeping the garden—

even the haiku master

does his daily chores

fallen willow leaves

littering the temple steps

yet no one sweeps them