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After My Mother's Death
I do not dream
of her but weave
into my waking
the hollow calls of geese
on the dawn sky--their flight
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please don't tell me
about your cat's new litter--
already the promise
of these open fields
has changed to loneliness
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propped by the door
his crutch has become a home
for many spiders--
how strong the strands
that bind it to the wall
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Fish guts stain
the rowboat's planks.
By the lakes' edge
a child is throwing stones
into the deep.
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I wait for you
by the mountain pass
where bells ring in the dark;
downstream the moon;
washes off her dust.
'from "Wind Tanka: Santa Fe," Japan
Environment Monitor 1996'
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