Last day of the month—
 
sunlight the color of tea
 
leaks through my window.

 
 
 

Overcast morning—
 
the wings of the crow turn grey
 
with a film of mist.

 
 
 

Cloudless April day—
 
I walk a desert pathway,
 
consoled by birdsong.

 
 
 

Six days past Easter
 
my plum tree drops its blossoms—
 
snowflakes in the grass.

 
 
 

Five days past Easter
 
my plum tree is still wearing
 
its white finery.

 
 
 

Four days past Easter
 
a crow on the backyard fence
 
mocks me as I mow.

 
 
 

Three days past Easter
 
the housefly in my bedroom
 
makes itself at home.

 
 
 

After-Easter feast—
 
a lizard snatches one fly
 
after another.

 
 
 

My backyard plum tree,
 
on the day after Easter,
 
still flaunts its blossoms.

 
 
 

On Easter morning
 
the plum tree in my backyard
 
flaunts fresh white blossoms.