Whatever it is, / I cannot understand it, / although gratitude / stubbornly overcomes me / until I'm reduced to tears.

The cherries' only fault: the crowds that gather when they bloom

Tightly held by rocks Through winter, the ice today Begins to come undone: A way-seeker also is the water, Melting, murmuring from the moss.

This place of mine never is entered by humans come for conversation, only by the mute moon's light shafts that slip in between the trees.

Now seen...now gone, The butterfly flits in and out Through fence-hung flowers; But a life lived so close to them I envy...though it's here and gone.

Whatever it is, / I cannot understand it, / although gratitude / stubbornly overcomes me / until I'm reduced to tears.

I'd like to divide myself in order to see, among these mountains, each and every flower of every cherry tree.