Dooryard Poems

Last night: storm.

This morning:

the silence

of bamboo

wind chimes, each

one lying

separately

on the grass.

 

 

This rain barrel

once brimfull of

dancing sunlight,

and now frozen

as hard as steel

glares back at me:

I ‘m still sparkling’

 

Spring: a red

ribbon from

last Christmas’

wreath,  exposed .

 

 

That Nor’easter

Is going along

the very same

path the glacier

was going along

 

A student of Zeno,

the moth that has fallen

in the pail of water

paddles first  half the way,

then half the way again.

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