Traveler's heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count -- / Festival of the Souls.
When your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.
Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die