Like the light snow
that piles up
until it crumbles,
how often my thoughts crumble
under the weight of love

In this world
what can I point to
and call my home?
Home is wherever
I rest my feet

If love could be bought
at the price of a life,
how willingly

If I'd known
it was old age calling,
I'd have locked the door,
said “No one home!”
and refused to see him

If a seed is there
the pine will sprout
even among boulders;
if I love and keep on loving,
can we fail to meet?

How I think of it!
that boat in the morning mist
of Akashi Bay,
moving dimly dimly
out of sight beyond the islands

Even in the roaring torrent
there are quiet spots,
they say—
why has my love
no stretches of calm water?

Even before they fall
I think how I'll miss
these autumn leaves—
they're the last bit
of color we'll see

Did I ever think
That decaying
In the loneliness of a barbarian land
I should become a shore-hunter
Tugging at the ropes of fishermen?

Cherry flowers,
the image of
our fleeting world—
no sooner have they opened
than they begin to fall