Tongues

blackbird and river—

their constant conversation

in different tongues

Know

How much do you know,

blackbird on my garden gate,

of the storm to come?

midwinter morning—

yearning for the first blossom

on the backyard plum

Little mango thief,

rivulets of golden juice

dribble down your chin.

Blackbird stops to stare—

every branch of the plum tree

is covered with snow!

in a photograph

plum blossoms my heart desired

forty years ago

A blooming plum tree

keeps appearing in my dreams

on the coldest nights.