The cloudy afternoon through the red maple – painted leaves, inked branches, white paper sky. This could be a haiku about spring here seven thousand miles away from Osaka where every line counts as seven beats.
Again I watch the sun rise east
climbing over me, stationary in my home,
and setting, as always, to the west.
If at the North or South Poles,
that’s not so. No East. No West.
Spring came early this year – a day
early astronomically speaking, but weeks earlier relatively,
based on my garden’s buds and shoots.
Perhaps not North of me and not
the Southern Hemisphere, where spring is autumn.
It’s a month of Saturdays in retirement.
Or perhaps every day is now Wednesday,
since weekend days still seem somehow special
hanging off my calendar in another color.
Are there still 24 hours each day?
a thinning crescent as it slowly sweeps
past four bright morning planets – first Jupiter
then Mars, Saturn and Mercury, the crescent
points at them this morning of equinox.
Golden Saturn invisible to me – but there.