Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers' imperial dreams.
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.
A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.