over the brook
at the tip of a bamboo leaf
clings a drop of dew



becoming one
with the brook--
sound of my pee

a journey
of many light years
ends here:
the sleepy eyes
of a drunken soul

making music
with a bamboo chime--
lake breeze

listening to sparrows
under the acacia,
I forgot the siesta

piercing the lake--
bamboo poles
and caw of white birds

full moon--
all by itself
above city lights



by mother's bed
a mosquito coil
slowly burns



a swarmer
crawls on the keyboard--
one haiku

blocking my way:
fallen trees
a dead beetle



bluer than sky
a beetle...
dead

celebrating
my forty-seventh year--
evening rain

birthday eve--
opening
a new haiku book



rolling up my mat--
today I turn
forty-seven



through the mirror,
your lovely eyes
your nametag



the sparrow
on a wire looks down--
ripening rice



under the pines
this mid-September
a poinsettia



Benguet slopes--
fog swallowing
the cabbages



fallen trees--
my father's house
miles away