Now I'll read you a few from "Daitokuji."
This one is "for Kobori-san."
"Closed in your garden, where the lost wheel shines,
the heart-pulled arrows lie, covered with moss.
Stone unlit lanterns beneath ancient shrines
insist silence be green to scroll its shrines.
We drink cold tea, while centuries toss our happy words
into their wordless lines."
Now, we have "Tea in Ryoko-in."
Mu Ch'i had six persimmons for his mind.
No one spoke of it.
Kobori-san folded time's orange napkin,
whisked a green tea into the Buddhist grail, time's tea
bowl.
We, on our cushions, smiled.
Cool wind grazed through the door.
Mu Ch'i, with artless art, had plucked his fruits out
of a white eternity.
In smoke, he outlined them and left.
Time set, a waterfall not falling.
Were we alive?
We saw a white hibiscus lay on the iron hearth.
"Kurihara-san playing his bamboo flute."
It is as pure as starlight breathed into a silver thread,
as tender as the west wind teaching a forest love
song to a young bird.
The winter-dried leaf still dangles, like the world to
Like the world through time.
Its rain seen tree bear of the otherwise children
who eloped with Autumn.
I watch, recalling how one foot without a shell
contains the universe as its gift, an almond.
Our welcome has not come.
This is that the true jewel, temple.
Thunder was the third gift.
Shinju-an sat, politely spoke, drank tea, gazed over pine,
moss gardens, old stone wells.
Time pleasures roamed the mural room.
I smiled when thunder bowed away,
not Shinju-an Thunder is his student.
What moves?
Lightning, thieves, rabbits?
Fleas, flies, fantasies, not time.
Thoughts pursued.
In my garden, rocks dream.
Pine needles hold their raindrops like belief.
Butterflies flutter, do I?
It's hard to catch them moving when I move.
I hope you don't mind, I'm going to read it again.
But this is your move.
What moves?
Lightning, thieves, rabbits?
Fleas, flies, fantasies.
Not time.
Thoughts pursued.
In my garden, rocks dream.
Pine needles hold their raindrops like belief.
Butterflies flutter, do I?
It's hard to catch them moving when I move.
We are four in the sand garden.
You, I, Friday star, and full moon.
Night widens its white braid basket.
We drop into it, our white words.
Research on the smile.
When the near is far, never questions
what is in the middle.
Grasshopper leaping over, smile.
Spy riding on a leaf, flirting, leach.
Most ancient traveler from inner space,
you sit on the poet's knee.
Light down the puppy's tail, find sorrows crack, make wealth
the comedy, wisdom a wink.
Bring wings for every cliff's fall.