The steady keening
 
from a passing flock of geese
 
empties my fulness.

 
 
 

Wind, relentless wind!
 
Three sunflower heads snap off—
 
great is my keening.

Keening

 
 
 

over the roaring
 
of ten thousand cicadas
 
young widow’s keening

Field

 
 
 

my strawberry field
 
smothered with frost this morning—
 
a house wren’s keening

Mallets

 
 

an old carpenter
 
making mallets from plum trees—
 
the orchard’s keening

Straw

 
 
 

old women keening—
 
no barley straw to bundle
 
for winter fuel