First weeks of the year—
 
I plan another journey,
 
knowing plans are vain.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
please guide me on my journey
 
into the unknown.

 
 

Random fall journey—
 
I pick a place on the map
 
and say, “Let’s go there.”

 
 
 

Not every journey
 
needs to have yellow roses
 
waiting at the end.

 
 
 

Long summer journey—
 
even the distant mountains
 
are too close for me.

 
 

Long summer journey—
 
a mother keeps arguing
 
with her trans daughter.

 
 

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

 
 

To a distant place
 
I plan a three-month journey—
 
there, wild dahlias bloom.

 
 

On this spring morning
 
I think of the last journey
 
that I’ll ever take.

 
 

The longest journey
 
begins with the first small step
 
toward cherry blossoms.