The year that vanished
 
only a few weeks ago—
 
how close it still seems!

 
 
 

First weeks of the year—
 
I plan another journey,
 
knowing plans are vain.

A little more light—

two weeks after the solstice

a new way appears.

 
 

Weeks after Easter
 
cream-white dahlias are blooming
 
in an old brown pot.

 
 

The open road calls
 
a few weeks after Easter—
 
I unfold my map.

 
 

On a narrow road
 
a few weeks after Easter
 
sorrow calls my name.

 
 

Weeks after Easter
 
alleluias keep spilling
 
from the wilderness.

 
 
 

Sakura blossoms,
 
how many weeks of winter
 
still keep you from me?

 
 
 

My neighbor’s plum tree
 
snaps under the weight of snow—
 
four weeks until spring.

Until

 
 
 

more than meets the eye
 
at the garden’s northern bound
 
six weeks until spring