
“A good world—
dew drops fall
by ones, by twos.”
Japanese poet Isa 1762-1826
Three lines tell all.
Mountains, unchanged, ignore
Temporary things, let
The mist pass without notice.
One tardy fog-cloud
Rushes up the valley,
Chased by the sun.
An old man stalks by
On his daily trudge,
Face set against the inevitable,
Looks neither left, nor right.
Alone now, girls used to play
With his youthful body,
Craving the hardness
For their own purposes.
Crows comment
Cynically on yet another
dangerous fool.
Nearby, in that other world,
The fog still hugs the cold waves
Beneath which creatures
can only wait,
Wishing we were gone.
“In this world,
-Isa-
we walk on the roof of Hell,
gazing at flowers.”
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