Nobody shows up
 
to mourn the homeless woman—
 
autumn loneliness.

 
 

September morning—
 
I linger over coffee
 
till the fog burns off.

 
 

As the war grinds on,
 
the arms merchants rub their hands—
 
autumn abundance.

 
 
 

September twilight—
 
the dog at my neighbor’s house
 
barks incessantly.

 
 
 

No one can restore
 
what the locusts have eaten—
 
September’s new moon.

 
 

Early morning fog
 
settles on the trumpet vine—
 
autumn says hello.

 
 

Biting an apple,
 
only to find it mealy—
 
autumn loneliness.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
a battle-weary soldier
 
dreams of going home.

 
 

Hold me, Grandmother,
 
for the long night is coming—
 
summer slips away.

 
 

The autumn mountains—
 
I see them for a moment,
 
then the fog rolls in.