“Friends part forever wild geese lost in cloud.”

Don’t imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.

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

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?

Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice.

Old pond, leap-splash – a frog.

No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.

A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.

Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.

Come, butterfly It’s late- We’ve miles to go together.

How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.

April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.

There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.

I hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.

A flute with no holes is not a flute.

Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.

Learn how to listen as things speak for themselves.