Haiku, Set 1

 in my son’s pocket
 my hand finds a stone
 smoothed by ancient seas
 father and son 
 descend into a canyon
 older than language itself
 leaving the school
 each salmon seeks the source
 of its own stream
 fiftieth spring:
 early daffodils
 still surprise me
 bowing to others
 he shows his greatest beauty -
 winter sunset
 how happy for us
 jasmine traded its color
 for this fragrance
 the sound of the bell
 in the air – the mind in
 the sound of the bell
 all I can see is
 Kuan Yin’s smile
 this old shoulder
 can’t chop wood, carry water,
 or hold up the world
 the long slow courage 
 it takes to make a life - 
 no cheering crowds
 I sip tea and see
 the Buddha’s hand
 lifting the cup
 far across the lake
 someone is singing
 oars at rest
 the crescent moon spills one star
 into the ocean
 rain on the sidewalk
 same sound as 
 rain on the mountain
 the planet spinning 
 through darkness toward days
 full of sunshine
 spring cleaning
 I find the key to the house
 we no longer share
 estate sale –
 a half-finished canvas
 of a perfect rose

 unable to walk
 on the beach – I become
 the ocean instead
 a thousand rivers
 flow into this ocean
 lifting the little boats
 where the cormorant’s wing
 touched the water
 Milky Way above – 
 flat on our backs 
 in the wet grass
 noon comes softly
 through the open windows
 along with flies
 swirl of the classroom –
 on a child's steady hand, 
 a butterfly dries its wings

 sound of the wind chime