The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
Just washed, How chill The white leeks!
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.
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.