an old woolen sweater
         taken yarn by yarn
                     from the snowbank

desert dunes —
I yearn for my home
along the riverbank

dried oregano —
adding a summer kigo
to my winter stew

this rain 
I must have heard it 
somewhere before

trading a past
life regression for a
past life: rape

leaf fall —
how easily I slip
between seasons

am I the ghost
of a child who died before me?
autumn deepens

flowing river . . .
my mother recalls
India's partition

autumn dusk . . .
the descent of light
into its past

stirring spices
into mama's chipped bowl . . .
Diwali feast

detention lines —
“the way of the transgressor...”
chalked on the black board

blueberry wine
last summer's fireflies
deep inside

refugee camp —
sculpting the tree trunk
into a cross

pressed flower
I remember
being beautiful

cloud patches…
recalling my faint 
memories

birds stir –
morning ragas
in my chai

sleeping through Beethoven's 5th
we left
the dead volcano

in this sweet-pea posy
suddenly the past

As if tsunami
Had been a fabrication —
The calm sea in spring

ancient eras sometimes we'd say that's a first for a male

chalk outline...
fading memory
of misspent youth

kissing his forehead
for the last time
snow on the mountains

basket full of sun —
mother folds the morning's wash
clothespin by clothespin

home visit —
I search my father's footprints
on the village road

Buson's grave
a wet hydrangea 
bows its head

vague shapes
beckon through the thicket…
Alzheimer’s

autumn evening
I lightly touch
my son’s first scribbles

homesickness
for the scent of sunlight
in her hair

scent of a pain balm
in the railway station...
memories of my father