Echoes of gunshots
Punctures the gray morning air.
Breeze lifts tree branches.
On Ohayo Road
Nobody waves back at me.
They're going places.
Amidst the chaos
Of bare and twisted branches,
An abandoned nest.
Water rules today;
Racing streams and pregnant sky
And liquid mirrors.
My heart is heavy;
My mind is full of thoughts.
Must be the weather.
Amid the dead brown
Tiny patch of reddish leaves--
Maple saplings grow.
From a wall of rocks
Thin tree reaches to the sky.
How does it do that?
Those bright yellow leaves--
They were once deep vibrant green.
Who took their color?
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