My parents in their graves.
I imagine their cares are lifted.
The branches of the yew are fragrant.
Birds I can’t name
Are high above.
“Why” wrote Ikkyu,
“Is it all so beautiful, this false dream,
This craziness, why?”
Morning smells of smoke.
The little dog raises his sweet face my way.
Walls of memory come down.
Again I’m a student
Translating a poem:
You came close. Hoar frost and snow…
Clouds and branches at the windows.
All night the stars like a song.
Busy sadness please
May my own children be happy
Planet of the Blind 