The Journey Itself Is My Home.

Nothing In The Cry Of Cicadas Suggests They Are About To Die

The Haiku That Reveals Seventy To Eighty Percent Of Its Subject Is Good. Those That Reveal Fifty To Sixty Percent, We Never Tire Of.

Why So Scrawny, Cat? Starving For Fat Fish Or Mice... Or Backyard Love?

The Desire To Break The Silence With Constant Human Noise Is, I Believe, Precisely An Avoidance Of The Sacred Terror Of That Divine Encounter.

Year's End Still In Straw Hat And Sandals