tattered lightsail
our hails to your system
lost to the wind

hospital vigil
the imperceptible shift
of clouds

home from hospital
spinning the bicycle wheel
just for its sound

loneliness
lies within the listener
a cuckoo’s call

fireworks crashing
                and fireflies so silent . . .
                tomorrow the biopsy

ill all day...
a crime novel
in both rooms

silenced by a stroke her hateful tongue

even in spring underlying melancholy

along with spring leaves
my child's teeth
are emerging

gelled broth . . .
always in my chest
the sound of wind

Reaching for green pears–
the pull
of an old scar

Cat moon
my wife ill 
with posset

difficult day
the rice lid rocks
from side to side

a quarter moon
wearing this white cast
I'm not worth 2 cents

chapped hands
and no rice -- I weep
with a monkey's face

a butterfly grown old
its spirit plays in
the chrysanthemums

August moon - 
oh I got a boil
On my thigh

waning moon --
my mother pretends
to know who I am

into the blinding sun . . .
the funeral procession's
glaring headlights