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.