Monday, November 14, 2011

useless stuff

Yakushima mountain
this pure water
like sweet wine

the closest to
the touch of your lips

Adorned with wires
and old grey towers

petal after petal
a tree paints itself
on the tarmac

the sound of my toothbrush
morning gatha

Moon faced Buddha, sun faced Buddha
plum blossoms
all along

Don't wave your fan too much
written poems may
fly away

Your flutter wakes me up
and you flicker away