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.