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Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.

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April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old – / These fields and mountains!
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Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count — / Festival of the Souls.
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Learn the rules, and then forget them.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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I hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.
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When I speak My lips feel cold – The autumn wind.
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Autumn Cold Feeling Lips Myself Talk Voice Wind
This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
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Autumn Disappear Growth Myself Old
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers.
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Desire Flower Moon Myself
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Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers’ imperial dreams.
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Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.
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Moon Myself Night Water

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