Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.