Chasing the world,
with no sense of affection.
Winter clouds, barren –
all the umbrellas
in the same direction.

On my island,
bees emerge –
crossing long fields.
Cicadas, sprouting –
talking and living life
as medicant monks.

Then, when all my
thoughts are exhausted.
I sit in the fields,
drinking tea with the old boys.
Life moves on……