A new year begins—
 
the paths I choose not to take
 
outnumber the stars.

 
 
 

Keeper of the winds,
 
can you change the river’s course?
 
Can you shatter stars?

 

 
 
 

At half past midnight
 
I overhear my plum tree
 
singing to the stars.

 

 
 
 

How close the stars seem
 
on a deep December night,
 
but how far my feet!

 
 
 

‘Patriotism’
 
is a word I never use
 
when counting the stars.

 
 
 

before the first stars
 
were strewn across the heavens
 
darkness deep and wide

 
 
 

During last night’s wind,
 
every fish in the river
 
rose to greet the stars.

 
 
 

The wind tells stories
 
while stones and foxes listen
 
and the stars keep watch.

Number

 
 
 

Twelfth night of the year—
 
the moon’s gone into hiding,
 
so I number stars.

Waking

 
 

Waking at midnight,
 
lovers ever so gently
 
comb stars through their hair.