O cherry blossoms,
 
your fragrance guides my footsteps
 
in the pilgrim way.

 
 
 

Winter’s waning days—
 
a solitary pilgrim
 
walks a desert path.

 
 
 

Pilgrim on the way,
 
ponder how your path would change
 
if no north wind blew.

 
 
 

After All Saints’ Day,
 
a pathway to the mountains
 
calls my pilgrim feet.

 
 
 

Pilgrim, when new leaves
 
appear on the ginkgo tree,
 
set out with your staff.

 
 
 

pilgrim at midnight
 
worrying rosary beads
 
till the first bird sings

 

 
 
 

Palm Sunday longing:
 
to be a lifelong pilgrim
 
on the praise-strewn way!

 

 
 
 

Languid afternoon—
 
a pilgrim pillows her head
 
on a smooth, round stone.

Pilgrim

 
 
 

fingering prayer beads
 
on her journey to sunrise—
 
a midnight pilgrim

Wastes

 
 
 

looking for lizards
 
among the stones and cacti—
 
pilgrim of the wastes