Last day of the month—
 
the bread and wine of scripture
 
still sustain my soul.

 
 
 

Wind, relentless wind!
 
The barn’s copper weathervane
 
keeps twirling nonstop.

 
 
 

A great blue heron
 
eyes me warily, then flees
 
to a safer place.

 
 
 

Midwinter morning—
 
the last stubborn oak leaf drops
 
into the dog’s dish.

 
 
 

Plums ripe for picking
 
appear only in my dreams—
 
deepening winter.

 
 
 

Crow from the mountain,
 
you guide me on my journey,
 
sharing my sorrows.

 
 
 

Deepening winter—
 
I dream of yellow roses
 
blooming at my door.

 
 
 

Longing for summer,
 
the Mexican gardener
 
dreams of dragonflies.

 
 
 

Tell me, little bird:
 
Why does the wind keep coming
 
to batter my door?

 
 
 

Dreaming of summer,
 
the Mexican gardener
 
sharpens his rose shears.