in late summer
i open the pavilion
a pond-frog croaks
and memories dissipate
as i sweep out the old dust

i am the blue sky
that clouds come to cover
i watch from above
free from their shadow or rain
they soon drift away

my neighbor informs me that
a bullet striking a rock
always goes straight up

and so the ricochets I heard
bouncing off my silo
couldn’t possibly
be from his gun

I do not argue
with armed men

the cherry blossoms
were lost to a late frost
two bluebirds
flutter down from the branches
and search the grass for bugs