Pebble in my shoe—
 
how can such a tiny thing
 
keep me from the way?

 
 
 

With no walking stick,
 
how distant seem the mountains,
 
how narrow my path!

 
 
 

Languid afternoon—
 
a pilgrim pillows her head
 
on a smooth, round stone.

 
 
 

Sunday morning blues:
 
instead of a jolt of joe,
 
insipid decaf.

 
 
 

The old man next door
 
stumbles through the neighborhood,
 
calling to his cat.

 
 
 

fragrant memories:
 
the way your eyes caressed me
 
seven moons ago

 
 
 

Just after daybreak
 
two marauding crows swoop down
 
on the dog’s food dish.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
to help the melons ripen,
 
warm them with your song.

 
 
 

Sizzling afternoon—
 
the Mexican gardener
 
quarrels with a crow.

 
 
 

Summer afternoon—
 
sunlight dapples the floorboards
 
of a vacant house.