Under the Bashō 2017

 

twilight sky           
             one by one
we flatten into silhouettes 

 

talking to the morning sky
why does this mynah
disagree 

 

another dawn
again we greet each other
like strangers

 


misty winter morning
the warm echo
of the temple bell

 


long journey
a shifting shadow, a fickle moon,
and a poem with no end 

 

creeping dusk
what was a pond, a heron
is now sky