Memorial Day—
 
the master sergeant’s widow
 
weeps beside his grave.

 

 
 
 

Cloudless May morning—
 
we mark the last days of spring,
 
longing for some rain.

 

 
 
 

Children laugh and play
 
behind the funeral home
 
on a warm spring day.

 

 
 
 

With a handkerchief
 
she polishes her glasses—
 
now the spring wind’s clear!

 

 
 
 

See this speck of dust?
 
That’s how long it’s been, my child,
 
since the mountain fell.

 

 
 
 

Chilly spring morning—
 
I seek the solace of tea
 
in a plain white cup.

 

 
 
 

Distant spring mountains—
 
do my feet still remember
 
how to take me there?

 

 
 
 

A gentle spring breeze
 
scatters dandelion fluff
 
all over my yard.

 

 
 
 

A gentle spring breeze
 
teases me with jasmine scent
 
from my neighbor’s yard.

 

 
 
 

On a cold spring night
 
a cricket near my back door
 
creaks out mournful tunes.