old garden—she empties
a hot-water bottle
under the moon

rice reaping—
no smoke rising from
the cremation ground today

fanning out its tail
in the spring breeze,
see—a peacock!

I turn my back
on Buddha and face
the cool moon

in the coolness
gods and Buddhas
dwell as neighbors

wheat sowing—
the mulberry trees
lift bunched branches

entangled with
the scattering cherry blossoms—
the wings of birds!

at the full moon's
rising, the silver-plumed
reeds tremble

scatter layer
by layer, eight-layered
cherry blossoms!

the tree cut,
dawn breaks early
at my little window