Even with a friend
 
the way of desolation
 
brings me to my knees.

 
 
 

Though my way is clear,
 
I stumble on the fragrance
 
of cherry blossoms.

 
 
 

After the party,
 
under a sliver of moon,
 
I make my way home.

 
 
 

The grasses tell me
 
that you came this way stalking
 
your prey, Brother Fox.

 
 
 

Crack in the pavement—
 
one golden dandelion
 
lights my homeward way.

 
 
 

After arguing,
 
you go your way, I go mine—
 
blizzard conditions.

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
what can my plum tree teach me
 
of the way ahead?

 
 
 

Step by step I climb
 
each hill standing in my way—
 
the journey lengthens.

 
 
 

Three oaks will tell me
 
what even Stonehenge cannot:
 
which way, and how far.

 
 
 

In telling the rose
 
how I think it should unfold,
 
I have lost my way.