a sparrow

adds another note

to a sunrise

ray of sunlight on

a leaf of the camellia;

crescent in the shade

on the sun-drenched shore;

cold sound of pebbles crushing

petals of sea shells

on a mountain pass,

a tiger beetle leads me

through the future path

the river smiles back

in the midsummer sunlight

like a clear mirror

its tail sparkling

like the azure summer sky;

a skink in the shade

a curtain of mist

rises up with the remains

of trees exhaling

the murmur of leaves

and the songs of bell crickets

fade into the rain

on a taro leaf

playing transient marbles,

drops dance in the rain

swaying as it burns,

the white dragon rises up

from the charcoal kiln

in the honey mist

with the morning’s melody,

a black kite circles

a stroke of blue paint

on a light grayish canvas;

it will clear up soon

in the evening breeze

leaves rustle and twigs crackle;

Bamboo's summer song

sparks of blazing fire

scattered around the dark woods;

tiger lilies

a sultry night,

a gecko on the window

relishing the light

dazzling shadow

dashed over the bush;

fishhawk in the breeze

on a rock

in the murmuring stream,

alone it sprouts

fallen leaves

hug each other

meeting old friends

firefly glows dimly

wafting across the river

of the starry sky

waving her hands,

a black swallowtail sends

my daughter off

covered by the heat,

green chestnuts peep

longing for autumn

sunlight flickering,

brushed with shades of oak leaves;

ethereal watercolor

like a pearl

on a leaf in a drizzle,

a snail muses

floating on the ocean

a blanket of tranquil waves

thunderhead as my pillow

the thick earthy scent

brings a summer shower

making me sit back

an egret glides

through the dawning haze

in my head

drops on pebbles

fading away with memories

of a summer day

leaves in canopy

murmur goodbye to neighbors

as the cedar falls

trampled on and on,

dandelion still flourishes;

one day so will we

a cicada's shell

in the shade of kaki leaves;

remains of childhood

the ume leaves fall,

drifting in the wind like

unaddressed letters

cold stream at my feet,

breath of air over my face

like a warm towel

braiding straws makes me

one straw among the vast string

of generations

Nature is poetic, only if we are.