A swan
floats to the bank
sunset

Fog lifts
the plowed fields
slowly

Through the fog
a rising sun
narcissus

The moon
over the empty road
almost home

Spring stops
these white coffins
are too small

After tomorrow, gone for a few days

The old farmer
plowing his field
in mind

Old hands
put a dead tomtit
on the windowsill

A dead tomtit
the boundless sky
in its feet

On the clothesline
clothes-pegs in all colours
spring

Spring sun
on these old vines
moss grows

Reunited
sharing Japanese jokes
two monks

Filled with stars
this midnight garden
heart blooming

Early morning
sparrows chasing each other
the fog lifts

Gone, back soon.
H.

Burning logs
in the fire place
he turns a page

Reflected
in the quiet pond
my unrest

Startling ducks
along the brook
two by two

Reflected
in the flowing brook
my unrest

A tulip blooming
first light
enters