the old house creaks
the fire-side spits
I turn another page.

In the mirror
how soft the square of moon
over the sleeping tot.

late afternoon
the magpie songs fade
the garden sundial too

The last-month mum
alone after breakfast
pruning her bonsai.

Perspiration
spots darken the wood
in the spinning lathe.

Mediterranean cruise
the whimsy of the water spout
to turn away south.

A dawn lake
spreading ripples
our silent oars.

alone with rain
waving down the platform
to the train

Sketched
before corruption
the fruit bowl’s apple.

the harbour-sun sets
such an orange to the winds
nodding the boats

Garden Buddha
a sliver of moonlight
has crossed to the feet.

chandelier light
its weight outside
the mirror