Last day of April—
 
my neighbor’s cat takes a nap
 
in my plum tree’s shade.

 
 
 

Gusty afternoon—
 
my apricot tree shudders
 
and shrugs off some fruit.

 
 
 

Let us praise the clods,
 
unbroken by the ploughman,
 
waiting for spring rain.

 
 
 

The mercury soars—
 
we take our afternoon tea
 
in the plum tree’s shade.

 
 
 

A crack in the glass
 
lets the lantern’s light leak out—
 
my journey lengthens.

 
 
 

Part of your story
 
will never be told again,
 
wind on the prairie.

 
 
 

The scarecrow’s straw hat—
 
someone put it upside down
 
on his empty head!

 
 
 

When a poet dies,
 
who takes up the words she leaves?
 
Sing, moon, and croon, sheaves!

 
 
 

Yellow butterfly,
 
even though the gate is closed,
 
come to my garden!

 
 
 

Unlocking the gate,
 
I head for the open road—
 
my feet are my map.