What I had hoped for
 
is not what my hands now hold—
 
bits of broken pots.

 
 
 

This old stone lantern
 
where a wren once built its nest
 
now holds only dust.

 
 
 

Windy afternoon—
 
how does the apricot tree
 
hold on to its fruit?

Poinsettia

 
 
 

Close to New Year’s Eve
 
my neighbor’s poinsettia
 
still holds all its leaves.

Fisherman

 
 
 

Barefoot fisherman—
 
only moonlight fills the hold
 
as he heads for home.