For a handful of grain,
they come to perch by the hundred,
the sparrows.
Oh… hundreds and thousands
can be counted.
It is what lies within the fist
that makes one tremble.
*
Can those
who adorn themselves for festivals
thrill
to the blossoming
of every
moment…
The perfection of adornment—
how long does it last…
*
Her own kite,
in her own sky,
the child
flies.
Even when the wind buffets it,
she claps and laughs.
Even if it lies torn, its tail snapped off,
caught
in a branch,
she hasn’t a care.
Kite upon kite,
a hundred thousand are hers.
As I keep making them,
let them tear, she says.
With every tear,
celebration,
solitude.
*
Out of darkness,
as those born to light,
our wandering
is a vast tale.
Before the swept-up dry leaves
can be gathered,
the wind scatters them,
sends them flying.
I stroke
the calf
grazing on
the touch-me-not.
Without noticing,
it chews up the grasshopper too,
along with it—
the pinnacle of beauty.
*
What does this little blue bird
lack
in dignity.
A beauty
not a whit less
than that of a lotus
with a thousand petals.
Grace.
As part of the whole,
without blemish,
in a low bush
it sits.
In exchange for the sight,
the blue sky
would have to be given in its entirety.
*
There is nothing
to climb a hill, stand there,
and proclaim.
The scrape I suffered
yesterday
is yours today.
What escaped alive
darts away.
Climbing ladders again and again,
bitten by snakes,
we roll the dice.
Some seek a sage
to lift the curse.
Holding a flaming torch
in the gold mine,
sweat pours down.
*
On the plant of love,
buds appear often,
fragrance wafts.
There is no knowing when
this will happen, in this way.
Suddenly it lies wilted.
The gods who grant blessings
are nowhere to be seen.
This too, somehow,
survives in the end.
Begins to flourish.
From the tuber below,
ever-new shoots.
Love’s generosity.
Blessing.
*
On a branch that will not break,
in a hidden place,
the eggs lie in the nest.
Divine wisdom
will not blow as a storm.
Will not climb as a monitor lizard.
Will not snap off the branch.
This, whatever it is,
before a chirp
can be heard,
climbs up,
swallows them whole.
*
It topples
us.
Love always
lays us down
and leaves us gasping.
Unable
to avoid roses,
what we suffer
is pitiful.
The surge of a wave,
the leap of fish,
the strike of lightning—
just the same
in love.
*
They come
to look
at the chrysanthemums
blooming
so exquisitely.
Halfway through, their attention
leaps
to the gooseberries
on the branches.
Poisonous plants
that make one itch.
They complain
about weeds.
About snails
in the rainy season
and mosquitoes
in summer…
As they leave,
they stroke
the chrysanthemum.
