Locusts

eating the locusts

that ravished my only crop—

turnabout’s fair play

Puzzles

in the nursing home

an old man solving puzzles

one last mystery

October’s full moon

leaking from the scarecrow’s sleeve

last year’s barley straw

with her practiced hand

brushing away a housefly

from the teacup’s rim

no longer waiting

for opportunity’s knock

on my battered door

neglected orchard

on the night of the new moon

the last plum tree dies

an empty suitcase

tossed out of a moving bus

now a mouse’s home

her husband’s shoulder—

tracing the white scar’s outline

with her brown finger

from the gardener

a cry of desolation—

the plum tree shatters

to quicken his heart

one yellow chrysanthemum

pinned in her black hair