After the time change,
 
it takes me more than a week
 
to reset my soul.

 
 

It is long past time
 
for picking ripe purple plums—
 
my empty basket.

 
 

Drought-time conundrum:
 
How many rains will it take
 
to soften the earth?

 
 

To master silence,
 
sit beneath the cherry tree
 
during blossom time.

 
 
 

I call my cat’s name
 
three times, but she ignores me—
 
chilly autumn rain.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
if only you would come back
 
to sing one more time!

 
 
 

summer pilgrimage
 
through a book of poetry
 
one line at a time

 
 
 

First week of August—
 
the wait time’s growing longer
 
for morning glories.

 
 
 

blooming just in time
 
for the old man’s funeral—
 
his wife’s hollyhocks

 
 
 

In a time of plague
 
red roses in a white vase
 
take the place of songs.