A door stands open
 
on an autumn afternoon,
 
but no one goes in.

 
 
 

Will you dog my steps
 
if I take the mountain path,
 
wind from the valley?

 
 
 

Late summer evening—
 
the homeward path is narrow,
 
but my steps are sure.

Finch

 
 
 

A house finch nesting
 
in the morning glory vines
 
flinches at my steps.

Planting

 
 
 

Her knees creak and snap
 
as she mounts the back-porch steps
 
after planting mums.

Headstone

 
 
 

seven steps away
 
from the soldier’s white headstone
 
room for a fresh grave

Leaves

 
 
 

fallen willow leaves
 
littering the temple steps
 
yet no one sweeps them