Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.