Crow

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
the crow ruffling his feathers
 
makes my plum tree shake.

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Faded

 
 
 

first day of autumn—
 
in the old stone Buddha’s lap
 
one faded plum leaf

Name

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
my father’s name grows fainter
 
on his granite stone.

Worn

 
 
 

First day of August—
 
even the wind is worn out
 
from chasing red kites.

Longing

 
 
 

last day of July—
 
longing for all the melons
 
that I did not plant

Bookstore

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
in the religious bookstore
 
a spider’s eggs hatch.

Wind

 
 
 

Last day of the month—
 
the wind wraps a plastic bag
 
around my plum tree.