shophouse row
infinity of portals:
private, but not too...
Shophouse Row [Senryū]
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Stacks and stacks
of wooden plaques:
Prayers on front,
Art on the back.
Each a wish
and a dream?
More an expression,
or so it seems.
Whatever prayer
may be writ,
There’s always
something
more to it.
A need to show
one’s unique soul:
To tell the world
that one is whole.
A life reduced
to a shingle:
Multitudes,
to a single.

snail stretches
to view the beautiful house -
too close to see.




Morning Glories
don’t feel slighted
because they bloomed
in the shadow of
Mexican Sunflowers…
Though the humans
who otherwise might
stop to admire them
can now not be
bothered to notice them.
Regretting having that last kid… (that would be me!)

You glow in my heart
Like the flames of uncounted candles.
But when I go to warm my hands,
My clumsiness overturns the light,
And then I stumble
Against the tables and chairs.


sun dips behind
buildings; early on a
Winter afternoon.

Winter morn:
still waters reflect each twig
of bare trees.