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Refinement's origin:
the remote north country's
rice-planting song.
Clouds now and again
give a soul some respite from
The summer grasses:
of mighty warlords' visions
all that they have left.
On my travels, stricken--
my dreams over the dry land
go on roving.
An old pond--
a frog tumbles in--
the sound of water.
Cooling, so cooling,
with a wall against my feet,
midday sleep--behold.
live the space of a door
that opens and shuts
Pervading my being:
my dead wife's comb, in the room
as I tread on it.
my eyes rejoicing--
my beloved's fan,
so white it is
shattering ...
shattering ... enduring
moon on the water
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