
sunrise orange
sparkles on the lake;
lone fisher casts nets

sunrise orange
sparkles on the lake;
lone fisher casts nets

thin moon crescent
shines brightly on a
cold, winter night.

A small arc of sun
stands above the trees
Like the tufts of hair
that give away the
hiding boy who can’t
judge hairdo height.
The next time I turn around,
I see Sun -- fully out and
stalking up behind me,
looming larger.

white silk-cotton tree,
sinuously sprawling —-
chaining earth to sky.
The valley stretches in such a way
that it gets sun but one hour a day.
That Happy Hour when the sun aligns
upon dewy grass and deep green pines.
The local villagers, they all know
when they should come and when they should go.
But that Happy Hour is not for either.
It's to face the sun and take a breather.