Empty

 
 
 

too many late nights
 
too many early mornings
 
beggar’s empty bowl

Running

 
 
 

Running the same course
 
as the river through the woods—
 
who can follow it?

Spring

 
 
 

seven weary rooms
 
all abandoned long ago—
 
spring will come again

Much

 
 
 

There is much to learn
 
from forks and blackened skillets—
 
if you know their tongue.

Emptiness

 
 
 

Emptiness,
 
will you sing to me
 
of wisdom?

Psalms

 
 
 

fair weather or foul
 
a pilgrim walks the pathway—
 
psalms arise from stones

Pillow

 
 
 

to pillow my head
 
on a small stone once again—
 
way of pilgrimage

Wisdom

 
 
 

pilgrim stops to pluck
 
the wisdom of the ages—
 
scarlet maple leaf

Stunned

 
 
 

In the temple courts
 
startled pilgrims halt their chants—
 
birdsong stuns the air.

Nothing

 
 
 

nothing but the wind
 
at six o’clock this morning
 
tapping at my door