knock on the door –
from this and other side
question marks

holding a thread
of gossamer . . .
distant sound of  a train

childhood blanket
now I wrap in it
my mother’s chill

grandmother—
she recognizes us
by touch

cherry trees in bloom—
if only I could stop
the wind

Foggy evening—
The old boat
Sinks in the silence

cherry blossoms—
I miss the orchard
of my father

an old apple tree
memories
instead of fruits

wind chimes
the first drops of rain
change their sound

first snow
tracks of a homeless man
from sill to sill

quiet morning
sky and sleepy ducks
flow under the bridge

Buddha statue
my smiling wife
looks at her belly

petition for divorce
the period
in every sentence

hospital window
day by day there are fewer
leaves on the trees

morning fog
all plans
in one cup of coffee

forest by the lake
fish hide
behind the trees

end of summer
the wind erasing
footprints

whiteness
the water falls
into its sound

old garden
from tree to tree
my childhood

one breath
one brush stroke
one

fog . . .
the world ends
in the garden

snowflakes
the painter adds
white to white

broken mirror
in each piece
the same eyes

mountains reflection
I turn the trail map
upside down

restless reeds
a swan at the shore shuns
my shadow

winter field
the crows devour
the last light

little trout
warming in the shallows
I cool my feet

no stars
only snowflakes
in the lantern light

twilight
the shadows
overshadowed

old piano—
from every key
the same silence