I show no mercy
 
to the housefly on my book—
 
splat! it’s dead and gone!

 
 
 

An overdue book,
 
a love letter never mailed—
 
autumn ends too soon.

 
 
 

summer pilgrimage
 
through a book of poetry
 
one line at a time

 
 
 

“One more!” the boy cries
 
as his dad closes the book—
 
deepening winter.

 
 
 

Autumn walkabout—
 
instead of thumbing his phone,
 
one man reads a book.

 
 
 

Spring’s first page-turner—
 
I skip both lunch and dinner,
 
devouring the book.

 
 
 

Winter afternoon—
 
the book I can’t bear to write
 
keeps writing itself.

 
 
 

An overdue book,
 
a love letter never mailed—
 
winter comes too soon.

 
 
 

The tea water boils
 
while I choose a book to read—
 
autumn abundance.

 
 
 

Without a prayer book,
 
the wren still stops to give thanks
 
forty times a day.