Ness

Poor crying cricket
Perhaps
Your little husband
Was caught by our cat

Even the general
Took off his armor
To gaze
At our peonies

Everything I touch
With tenderness
Alas
Pricks like a bramble

Thinking comfortable
Thoughts
With a friend in silence
In the cool evening

In my house this spring
True, there is nothing
That is
There is everything

Because spring has come,
This small gray
Nameless mountain
Is honored by mist

A small hungry child
Told to grind rice,
Instead
Gazes on moonlight

One man and one fly
Buzzing together
In one big bare
Sunny room

Moon adrift in a cloud
I have a mind
To borrow
A small ripe melon