frying eggs
the tinkle of bells
how cold the wind

a snail
gazing up at the mountain
the shadow of mine

sorting old books
dreaming
nearing me slowly
summer clothes

frozen in the ice
the sparrow has
frozen in the ice
which no one visits

burning
both of them shed
bending daffodil leaves

trees icy black and wet
a koi gulps
fog rolls in

congratulations
scent of old books
easter eggs

asked their age
i've brought on my fan!
in secret places

in the hand
a woman tilling the field
she looks cold

slow night
a snail crawling
all the way up the hill

my noontime nap
the silence
with tearful eyes

winter sunset…
you have survived to feed
a gift from the pure land

how many gallons
snail
he wipes the mirror

even on a small island
the last of the firewood
a cricket

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