lost cricket
in grandmother's basement—
demijohn, dust
final
embrace—
hanging roses
on the wooden cross
form
throughout
the formless void—
beautiful sunset ...
broken wing—
only a swan
under the old dock
window
spiders—
the cat in grandma’s
rocking chair
Buddha
Temple—
over the ruins
prayer in tears
Tanka
„Namaste!” I
hear
in the silent night –
a falling leaf whispers
our song
over and over again
if you
still cry,
the entire autumn
will lose all its leaves –
there are too many falling leaves
in the world already, my love
