Facing a fine sun,
a blue magpie – hunched.
Scarred by a few wars,
I met myself – by the harbour.
Now, waves turn into wildflowers –
and such simple questions.

The dead, drift apart –
while we wait.
And the lake water,
sparkles in dark silence.
A hot summer wind,
flows over the market –
beyond impermanence.

A thousand and one steps today,
even an old body….
can still know what.

Along the road,
I heard a single cicada cry –
raising a deep night.

Then I knew,
I was alive…with ten thousand
more steps ahead.

Stay in,
wash your hands.
Self-isolate
or self-loathing.
I never know which.

An insect trapped –
released through my window.
A small lotus of enlightenment,
plotted by Buddha.

A summer,
with the softest kiss.
Now, I can
wash my hands.

At the south road,
the sun pinched thin.
Out of water
and out of mind.

A single butterfly,
flutters and drifts.
And a thousand Buddhas
fall from the sky.

There is nothing
to be taken away………

After the plum rain,
a barn swallow change.
Dry summer day –
a field of round melons
and loons cry.

Within a sunlit shallow.
distant city lights – in from the waves.
A cool face and moment of birth,
crabs splitting stars.
And there is no doubt.

The branches sway,
blue magpies dance –
evening, morning, night.
Outside this island,
buildings burn –
and the machines
crank us up to die.

Here, we sweetly cry
and wait for the rain –
breathing in plum blossom.
With the patience of a mother,
teaching her child
to see the flowers –
and rise like Neruda.

It’s sky grey,
this place –
but no vagueness.
A quite wisdom
has grown strong.
From migration days,
a large applause.

And from the children,
an exotic flavour –
has sparked and thrived.
From the mountains
to the plains –
we are all to root.

Spring moves out,
too lazy to open my eyes.

Is there a road?
Is there a lingering leaf?

The moon is gone,
and an island sun rises.

The shrieks of gulls,
lead to colours on hesitant hills.

Lifting mist….
a slow drift to freedom.

Again, on Saturday morning –
the bell rings.
A rebirth….
or another slumber attack –
consciousness of the
world suspended.

On the plain,
a hide and flee.
Animals no longer
belong to the cage.
And the monks, no longer
belong to the temple.

An erosion of the mind,
permeating the whole tribe.
Flesh, blood and bone….