Nearing dusk; the breeze
Under crows’ wings; seasonal
Scents through blue cedars

Clouds at dusk drifting
Through abandoned house windows—
Dust on their shadows

Moss gets slippery
Nearer the pond; the falls mist
Clinging to cliff rocks

Almost unseen, ice
On the ledge; in distant woods
The mist is settling

That moment the owl
left us behind; woods settle;
The downstream silence

Snowfall is ending…
As far hills darken with dusk
Crows start up again

A calm spring morning—
The sculptor’s rock unfinished
With its cloak of moss

A long shadow of pine
On railroad tracks—where the crows
Gather on brown grass

More dog days; scarecrow
Straw in dust from the tractor—
The sundown’s soft blush

No shade in this field
Where crows mate with each other—
A breeze through the graves