Coat

On day seventeen

every chair on the terrace

wears a coat of frost.

River

New year, day sixteen—

I try to read the river,

but it won’t keep still.

New year, day fourteen—

a toasty little teahouse

fills with thirsty guests.

New year, thirteenth day—

I linger on the mountain

till the sun goes down.

Tenth day of the year—

I look in vain for snowflakes

on my palm tree’s fronds.

Ninth day of the year—

I look in vain for blossoms

on my bare plum tree.

Eighth day of the year—

a road in the wilderness

opens before me.