FALLEN FLOWERS
At the tall pavilion,
The guests are finally gone.
The little garden
Is a chaos of flying flowers.
A disarray
Along the winding paths
Dispatched distant
Into the slanting sun.
Gut-wrenched,
I cannot bear to sweep.
Eyes strained, I remain,
To the edge of dissipation.
The fragrant heart in approaching spring,
Is extinguished.
The only outcome,
Tear-dampened clothing.
YESTERDAY
Yesterday,
The Purple Girl Spirit left.
This morning,
The bluebird delays in coming.
Disallowed to speak,
Once again we are dispersed.
So infrequent, the moments we wax, replete
It justifies embittered sighs.
On the 16th, inside the full moon,
The toad’s silhouette was smashed.
13 string frets
Form a single slanted line of geese.
After the daybreak bell,
What else happened?
Smiling,
While leaning against a wall next to plum tree blossoms.
LATE AUTUMN, ALONE, VISITING THE WINDING RIVER
When the lotus leaf unfurled,
spring regret was born.
When the lotus leaf withered,
autumn regret matured.
I know profoundly while the body exists
The constancy of emotion exists
Inconsolable, I gaze at the river.
Sounds of river-water in my head.
TOWER OF THE SETTING SUN
Flowershine, willow shade,
Winding heaven with grief.
The last incarnation of wall ascended,
Onward up the tower
A longing to ask the lone swan
Whence it goes
So unaware, the self, the world,
Outspread, spill.