a four-leaf clover
in the secondhand book
a slight smell of summer
early summer wind---
souvenir dolls
wink at each other
summer wind carries
the sound of piano trio
from the forest
a katydid
talking to
every star in heaven
iris pond---
the way of wind
purple
lying on the grass
my finger traces graffiti in the sky
as if writing music
even a doll
in the rubble,
bathing in ocher sand
the whiteness of a rose of Sharon
breaks a tinge of darkness---
tea ceremony
a pink seashell
of the Indian Ocean
recalls my native seashore
jazz concert
on the Sunday beach
seagulls, too, in crowds
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