Rats

Last day of the month—

rats have stripped the grapevines bare,

leaving me no fruit.

Bike

Deepening autumn—

on a rickety old bike

a boy wobbles home.

Near my backyard fence

a crow with a seeming grudge

keeps on vexing me.

What can you tell me,

tall pine tree on the mountain,

of the way ahead?

Autumn afternoon—

a hawk intent on dinner

chooses a grey mouse.

In the labyrinth

a feather from a sparrow

seems to block my way.

In the birch tree’s flesh

lovers carve their initials

with a pocketknife.

In the labyrinth

no GPS is needed—

my feet know the way.

first day of autumn—

in the old stone Buddha’s lap

one faded plum leaf

A house finch nesting

in the morning glory vines

flinches at my steps.