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

 
 
 

summer solitude—
 
placing three yellow roses
 
on my father’s grave

 
 
 

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