Clouds Compete With Smoke

Rain is a presence;
Shiny is the reflecting road;
Clouds compete with smoke.








Soggy leaves in stream;
Sun is nowhere to be seen;
Gray darkness at noon.





The ladder still stands
Holding up the wretched door.
No one dares climb it.

Whirling wooden ball
Grows out of the parent tree;
A life of its own.










The woods are singing,
A high pitched vibrating ring
Not meant to be heard.

Ferns above ivy
Sheltered by the bowing fir:
Late fall greenery.

In the dark tree's cave
Two leaves wait expectantly.
(But that's projection.)










What are you doing,
Munching on my backyard lawn,
Loud cow from next door?