Deepening autumn—

the path on which I stumble

seems to have no end.

At my journey’s end,

two pears ripe enough to eat

still hang on one branch.

What can you tell me,

river that flows to the sea,

of my journey’s end?

At my journey’s end,

a cricket in the kitchen

seems to welcome me.

Milkweed

Near December’s end

a milkweed pod bursts open,

scattering its seeds.

Moth

A blazing candle

lures an unsuspecting moth

to its fiery end.

Little brown sparrow,

when I reach my journey’s end,

will you greet me there?