it grows hazy, the moon in my cup--white sake
wind from the prairiedries my sleeves--all these purple flowersbearing thorns
just hold tightand lean into the wheel--southerly winds
tall grass, dry and amber--I release the cicadaI kept in a jar
once acrossa young man yearns for home--shadows lenghthening
BIA 701--through static on the radiobeating of a drum
with a tayu's facewe talk about the weather--first spring gusts
zazen--the dog in the next roomquietly snoring
the last open watera city rising above--Raspberry Island
birds fly infrom incredible angles--sunlight's shimmer on snow
