One thin note rises
 
from the old monk’s bamboo flute—
 
a cherry blossom!

 
 
 

After the solstice,
 
monks in the mountain zendo
 
meditate at dawn.

Paint

 
 
 

Summertime at last!
 
On the temple gate a monk
 
splashes fresh red paint.

Tea

 
 
 

boiling spring water
 
for a cup of evening tea—
 
the monk’s hand trembles

Awe

 
 
 

Yellow butterfly,
 
the monk removes his sandals
 
in awe of your grace.

Welcoming

 
 
 

Welcoming April—
 
even the monk in his cell
 
seems giddy with joy.

Trembling

 
 
 

the trembling
 
of a wizened monk
 
at matins

Holier

 
 
 

Ploughing or praying—
 
even the monk cannot tell
 
which is holier.

Lap

 
 
 

novice monk at dusk
 
brushing from the Buddha’s lap
 
three dead butterflies

Praying

 
 
 

praying with the sun
 
at its rising and setting—
 
old monk swathed in red