lining up all my pens
new year
I am ready for you
January irises
filling the space
between us
moving the photograph
an inch to the left —
the still life becomes
an altar
cracked
the teapot you gave me
for my birthday
back when we were still
best friends
gray day —
I could always pin
a pink plastic peony
to the collar
of my black winter coat
something as simple
as moving the garbage cans —
this crow can't take his eyes off me
winter daydream —
in six month we'll go on a picnic —
who will we be then?
a twist of tissue
grandmother's bookmark
nestled between War and Peace
gone
the warmth of your hands —
last winter's mittens
come closer
speak to me of Paris
while the streets of this city fill with snow
dusty and untuned —
your piano —
such a melancholy day
second-hand quilt
no memories
no comfort
my fake smile
smoothing itself out —
at last the train leaves the station
in her kitchen window
a vase of silk daffodils —
my good neighbor
all day
on the other side of the window
crow —
yes, you
wherever I go
it follows me —
this wretched cough
the difference between yesterday and today
is the difference between February and March —
later I'll go in search of flower buds
neighbor crow
your impatience teaches me
patience
Saturday night
party time —
slow dancing to Mozart adagios
delicate Japanese cup
you lived with me for 28 years
shattered in a careless moment
I tuck the shards
among the Clementine peels
and tie up the trash bag
hello butterfly!
this busy intersection
crow keeps careful watch
once there was a frog
who fell in love with the moon —
I am that frog
gone — a small blue stone
from my new earring —
no point in crying —
wabi sabi
wabi sabi: acceptance of transience and imperfection
library book
lost and found —
someone else's long gray hair
calm and content —
all the houseplants —
waiting for the storm
one after another
3 candles burn out —
heavy snowfall
shaking off snow
neighbor crow
re-claims his dignity
how far did I walk this morning
back and forth
with my yellow shovel
heart racing
getting nowhere
early morning walk —
a different route each day
just to confuse the crows
"not far
as the crow flies" —
but we are not crows
the horizon
still out of reach
rocks
in the stream bed —
their winter was also long
the distance between us
I'll draw the map
you color it in
crossing the bridge —
where are the koi?
long gone…
where are you, my friend?
long gone
5 women in a boat
circling the shore —
only one is a ghost
neighbor crow
with his drum and kazoo
flying off to welcome spring
this morning
not a single person
returned my Hello —
but oh
the crows the crows the crows
