The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers
The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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.
Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate