When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.
Do not resemble me-Never be like a musk melon Cut in two identical halves.
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers