Thanks

 

Some days I can’t see
beyond the two small lemons
as they pull down the branches.

 

 

Turning

 

My mother is dead.
The lemons still turn yellow,
the trout still stare emptily,
desire is still free.
We still love many people,
eat peaches as if kissing.

 

 

Dusk in Winter

 

Everything is blue.
If we mend dusk, then morning
may never arrive.
At this time of day, it’s hard
to tell the difference
between a rook and a star.
Snow melts on the rook’s
leg. A poem is the rook’s leg
only after touching snow. 

 

 

Rain at Night

 

To be the last drop
of rain each night is sadness.
It shuts the last door and jumps.