Nobody shows up
 
to mourn the homeless woman—
 
autumn loneliness.

 
 

At the baggage claim,
 
one woman smells as fragrant
 
as a summer rain.

 
 
 

On Thanksgiving Eve
 
a homeless woman beds down
 
near the temple gate.

 
 
 

In the rose garden
 
an old woman stops to pray
 
near the yellow ones.

 
 
 

Near the bananas
 
a woman pinches some plums
 
to see if they’re ripe.

 
 
 

We exchange small talk,
 
the woman downstairs and I,
 
as she keeps sweeping.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
an old woman shakes her cane
 
at a mocking crow.

 
 
 

A drunk woman sprawls
 
in a moonlit alleyway—
 
spring melancholy.

 
 
 

Parting the curtains,
 
the woman across the street
 
spies on her neighbors.

 
 
 

The homeless woman,
 
shifting in her cardboard box,
 
startles a field mouse.