Sailing

Autumn afternoon—

though my boat has sprung a leak,

I am sailing home.

River

the swollen river—

hoping to cross by nightfall

in my leaking boat

crossing the river

with no thought for tomorrow

in a leaking boat

among the rushes

a little kid named Moses

floating his own boat

The same wooden boat

cradling my father’s ashes

holds a butterfly.

after she leaves him

only a leaky blue boat

to ply the waters

In a fragile boat

Buddha joins three fishermen,

hoping for a catch.