Come windless invader
I am a carnival of
Stars, a poem of blood.

But for their cries,
The herons would be lost
Amidst the morning snow.

Winter solitude-
in a world of one colour
the sound of the wind.

Calligraphy of geese
against the sky-
the moon seals it.

This autumn-
why am I growing old?
bird disappearing among clouds.

Here
I'm here-
the snow falling.