Short Poems

Gazing at this moon
over Mikasa tonight,
I know how he must have felt,
that man who
" looked far off "

How lonely, the light of the moon
filtering into my hut,
the only sound, the clackers
that shoo away birds
in the mountain paddies

With blooms of pampas grass
for markers
I push my way along,
no trace of the trail
I vaguely remembered

Even in a person
most times indifferent
to things around him
they waken feelings —
the first winds of autumn

Summer nights I doubt
they can even see the moon —
poor people in their lean-to,
burning smudge fires
to keep off the mosquitoes

In fifth-month rains
no trace of a path
where I can make my way,
meadows of bamboo grass
awash in muddy water

If only I could
divide myself,
not miss a single tree,
see the blossoms at their best
on all ten thousand mountains!

I'll forget the trail
I marked out on Mount Yoshino
last year,
go searching for blossoms
in directions I've never been before

Tangled even further
in the wind
that dries them —
threads of green willow

Mist seems to
draw the water, leading it
into seedling beds,
as it hovers above
the irrigation troughs