reading the scriptures
 
contained in thorns and thistles
 
understanding naught

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Little brown sparrow,
 
the mist that shrouds my plum tree
 
also shrouds your song.

 
 
 

In a shallow tray,
 
heaped with sun and oranges,
 
a housefly settles

 
 
 

On this twisting path,
 
many whom I cannot name
 
have left their footprints.

 
 
 

Someone fills my cup,
 
though I have not asked for more—
 
tea of bitter tears.

 
 
 

Why do you scold me,
 
blackbird in the hawthorn tree?
 
Let me nap in peace!

 
 
 

Little granddaughter,
 
you were singing songs for me,
 
then the raven came.