I.
Summer rides innocent as a
kingfisher skimming water, breeze shimmering.
The countryside teems,
luminescent against the still night.
The moon is pastoral. The moon is everything.
Under cicada shells
sweet fireflies swim breathless
forgetting to dream
II.
Autumn is kerosene’s slow
burn, dusk anticipating snow.
Yoshitada thins. We toss light verses to dusk, ornaments
waiting against a magnolia
tapestry.
Pear tastes bittersweet
unaware of the season
music understands
III.
Winter has nothing to do
with anything. It’s the brittle
beards of samurai drinking
themselves lonely into night.
The monk sits calm--a dead
carp suspended in ice.
Yoshitada my friend
hair dimmed to the scalp
lonely as bonfire
IV.
Spring snow sifts blossom
petals, a Koan slips into the wind.
The moon looms, lantern of
another universe.
The water is warming without
you.
Left for wandering
robin eggs rest in their nest
burdening the branch
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