What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.

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.

I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.

Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto

Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.