With every haiku
 
I invoke my father’s name,
 
gone fifteen winters.

 
 
 

The same waxing moon
 
that comforted my father
 
shines to comfort me.

 
 

Midsummer journey—
 
if my father had a grave,
 
I’d bring one red rose.

 
 

Telling my father
 
that all his roses have died,
 
I wake from my dream.

 
 
 

My father’s old shirt—
 
the fragrance of autumn mist
 
lingers on the sleeves.

 
 
 

white chrysanthemums
 
to remember my father—
 
first chill of autumn

 
 
 

One more April ends—
 
I keep forgetting to spread
 
my father’s ashes.

 

 
 
 

With no umbrella,
 
a father and daughter walk
 
in the freezing rain.

 
 
 

With help from the wind,
 
snowflakes rearrange themselves
 
on my father’s grave.

 
 
 

gifts for my father
 
at his permanent address—
 
white chrysanthemums