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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.

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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, “I shall be unhappy without loneliness,” shows that he made loneliness his master.
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Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice.
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Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
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An autumn night – don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
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The journey itself is my home.
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers.
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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
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There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
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