before tonight’s frost
bringing in a cricket’s song
with the geraniums

a new day
        how to translate
this talk of crows

field of wild iris —
the pinto pony
kicks up his heels

shimmering beneath the glaze
blue brush strokes
on the Chinese ginger jar

the meadowlark
holding down the fencepost
with song

too early awake
          but this mockingbird
                    this moon

glissandos
rippling from the strings
wind from the sea

deep in this world
of Monet water lilies . . .
                     no sound

spring morning
the raven goes
where the wind went

pausing
halfway up the stair —
white chrysanthemums