you say
"rabbit rabbit"—
it's the first day
of the month I was born in,
and I kiss you
as if you
are the only one
for me

cherry blossoms—
memory
of an old temple;
a tree on a crutch
me on my cane

tiny newborn
grand-daughter—
my daughter and I
both sob
remembering
my mean mother
who still
would have been the one
to send a vase of roses

raked gravel—
but when I think
of my Japan
I see mice scurrying
by flooded rice fields
and sniff the stink
of the sea

terrible news
from every direction—
I dip another
chip in salsa.
I can't see
the future
and for this moment
don't care,
as you
are smiling at me.

outside
the funky motel
white pear flowers—
sipping
slightly burnt coffee

every year
passing the
anniversary
of your death,
your surgery,
your birthday,
our wedding,
nothing changes
except me.

I look at the baby,
I'm worried already
She's awfully pretty
and the oceans are rising
but then again
you named her
for an Irish pirate.

tulips and daffs
cold wind
from the west
somehow in spring
I feel less
like I need
to know
what I'm doing

a peacock
in the chicken yard—
my friend
the Persian poet
says:
"he who wants a peacock
must endure the journey to India"
but this one
just blew in.

the baby
is just a newborn—
but I'm getting ready
to take her
to see some ducks

cherry blossom
season
I forgot to file
those
midterm grades

it's snowing
again,
in off the plains,
we hope
the apricot blossoms
in the courtyard
won't freeze,
promise me, sweetheart,
you'll never die

red bud
is your favorite
of every flower
in the daze—
snow clouds
on the mountains

sandhill cranes
are gone
from the stubbled field
along the bosque
fishermen
stand as if
personifying
Patience

yellow rain
of blue palo verde tree
these fallen blossoms
remind me
of so many
impressions...

an unstruck bell
the unnamed flower
must be
weeping cherry
blossoms
haze

the black dogs
chase the peacock
at first
they wanted
to catch him
but now
they herd him
back into the coop