Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.
First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
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.