Ghosts of the Summer

What is the time now?
The darkness is premature;
Something will happen.

The cars rush faster;
The trees' silhouettes are darker;
We all are waiting.












Perched on fence posts,
Stalks of hay like talismans
Guard the road and yard.

Under rushing stream
Long green plants are still waving--
Ghosts of the summer.



My camera tells me:
The light is closer to night.
(It takes a machine).

Shadows on the stream
Reflect a darkening sky
Rippled by water.









This one mud puddle
Forms at the top of the road
Always reflecting.

Turning, I trip, fall,
Crashing onto the hard road;
Personal Zen stick.