Love

What is love
But separation
From the fiddle

Spring

Is it one book
One man or one truth
The source of all

Descent

Falling blossoms
Besmirched the pond
With their beauty

Watchers

Hill cherry trees
Witness the winter
Till’ they blossom

Blossoms

In winter’s midst
Cherish your blossoms
Plump cherry tree

Act

What will be man’s play
When machines will want to write
Their own cold stories

Flow

Sensing the stream
By the raising steam
Branching out lums

Whistles

Whistling echoes
Of first winter days
Tunes dully played

Freedom

With fear in heart
How could man grasp
Heavens’ freedom

Sailing

Last falling leaf
An arch in the wind
On its last trip

Loss

From all richness
Only thing to lose
One’s dignity

Emptiness

Empty blue sky
Before Eifel’s crests
More emptiness

Frozen

Lifeless butterfly
Caught in pines’ amber
Still a butterfly

Run

Running after
Dreamy butterflies
Dream with no end

Dive

Little blue bird
Dive into the midst
Of nothingness

Footsteps

No marks
Of my footsteps
Higher tides

Bedtime

Dreaming the bed
Being in bed’s warmth
Dreams’ coziness

Flow

Let love flow
Like blood through your vains
Be its vessel

Roads

On roads to nowhere
Many travel to somewhere
Then wish they weren’t there

Silvery

Night’s silvery clouds
Still felt in mornings long hours
Cold scent of mulled wine