October delight—
 
I glimpse the Full Hunter’s Moon
 
before clouds move in.

 
 
 

Without my consent,
 
stories write themselves in me—
 
deepening autumn.

 
 
 

A sagging front porch—
 
two old people in rockers
 
watch maple leaves fall.

 
 
 

This stone in my path
 
will not keep me from going
 
the length of autumn.

 
 
 

deep the loneliness
 
of a birchwood stripped of leaves
 
on an autumn night

 
 
 

Yellow butterfly,
 
tell me how to tell the tale
 
that will never end.

 
 
 

The last grasshopper
 
gallops on an autumn wind
 
to its destiny.

 
 
 

October twilight—
 
shrouded in thick mist, the crow
 
cannot find its tongue.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
now that autumn has arrived,
 
you sing tiny songs.

 
 
 

Autumn fecklessness—
 
the falling leaves grow deeper,
 
but I’ve lost my rake.