Seen from the outside
a perfect sky, a life’s
scroll of spring dreams.
As I come to my grave,
the dreams go wandering.
And paradise, a drone
of mosquitoes,
is taken by the wind.
Among the few roots left,
I rest and cool off –
filling my mind with emptiness.
All that I have borrowed,
the temple bell and the
butterfly, now returned.
Life will find a way.