pine coned eyes
cold feet
nuts stuck between my teeth

A feather for whose cap
if you dare to grasp
the dew

Flirting with the wind

an old man

points the way

waiting

the wooden seat

absorbs another sitter

into the garden
the first sounds
bees in the foxgloves

the wind
blows me
and the cherry blossom

upright

the iris

and the lady vase