A warm spring morning—
 
I place the names of roses
 
on my eager tongue.

 

 
 
 

Crow on the fencepost,
 
can’t you still your noisy tongue
 
for just three seconds?

 

 
 
 

Malevolent crow,
 
because of your fiery tongue
 
my anger blazes!

 
 
 

Summer by summer
 
three words roll round on my tongue:
 
fig, magnolia, plum.

 
 
 

How can the blossom
 
tell me of its comeliness
 
if it has no tongue?

 
 
 

The river whose name
 
will not flow forth from my tongue
 
still flows to the sea.

 
 
 

Raven on the fence,
 
how much more must I endure
 
of your cheeky tongue?

Vines

 
 
 

Morning glory vines—
 
whose tongue can relate the tale
 
of such twisted lives?

Space

 
 
 

the space between things
 
concealing a meteor
 
and a lizard’s tongue

Stone

 
 
 

Even though I know
 
every note of the old songs,
 
my tongue turns to stone.