Open
from seven am to two pm
the pumpkin flowers

On long stilts hurriedly
my shadow over the field—
December sun

Abandoned lighthouse.
Behind the panes
the salty moon

lonely mountains—
I answer the echo
of somebody else

visiting hour
between the lips
safety glass

space
my jeans
too tight

to the war memorial
over crumbling steps
rattling oak leaves

Thereafter
in the skylight
another sky

overnight
the ice has tuned
the stream up

bus stop—
the warmth at my back
alights

The waitress
gives the blind man
a special smile

music somewhere
the old quadrille stallion
twitches his ears

leaves floating
in the sunset light – how hard
to be so light

April shower—
in the hall of the employment office
silence reigns

Returning home at night—
from the fur of my cat
the smell of winter.

Found—
in old photos
her smile

fading light
today she knew
who I am

In my parents' house—
the stairs still creaking
in the same place

doctor's waiting room
the Buddha statue has been sitting here
for three years now

parting—
two clouds of breath
become one

winter evening
with tiny stitches
the doll's smile returns

November morning.
Ringing bells
go about lifting the fog.

morning cool . . .
the archer
draws the silence

Father's video
The wedding vow
blurred

On the carousel
each time around
closer to childhood

moonlight
the empty chair has stopped
rocking

Sunday afternoon
a concert of coffee spoons
from the balconies

shopping mile
the empty space
around the beggar

Midday heat—
The shadow of the shepherd
grazed

polished varnish
the vendor's smile
in the showroom kitchen

closing time
the day disappears
in the night safe