September’s last day—
 
the farmer can’t stop boasting
 
about his melons.

 
 
 

September twilight—
 
a door I cannot open
 
keeps me in the cold.

 
 
 

Am I a wheat grain
 
destined to be crushed between
 
two granite millstones?

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
one by one the maple leaves
 
abandon their tree.

 
 
 

September twilight—
 
the postman skips my mailbox
 
but fills my neighbor’s.

 
 
 

Unlighted lantern—
 
a luna moth shrinks its wings
 
to fit the darkness.

 
 
 

In the gate’s shadow
 
I find a deeper shadow
 
within a shadow.

 
 
 

To leave by the gate
 
and re-enter by the door—
 
how satisfying!

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
autumn always comes again—
 
now what will you sing?

 
 
 

Departing summer—
 
if only the sunflowers
 
would bloom forever!