368
mourning poem

the oriole is full of tact
sings for those with something to wake for

with you gone
there’s not much of Spring for me

the sun out of season
mocks all inconstancy

when it’s high enough
for birds to retire

then I might come from my nest

369
where there’s wine there’s hope

a precious sword has snapped in two
ambition never reached old age

bitter songs
touch a cold sky

tears fall as morning frost
from my face

with sadness I’m crazed

a cup of warm wine
and yet
I’ll face ten thousand
things I’ve to do






370
in mountain poems

we met when I was disappointed
how full the heart can be

so many works
he bore in his basket

pure air of the old days
remained in those poems

ink soaring peaks
the moon standing by

deep below
vertiginous longings

the falls
and the river run

mirroring
sky






371
graveside

desolate site
lonely spirit

place where
tears are held

old conversations
ring in my ears

your death locks
roots of the pine

a thousand
and ten thousand years






372
reading posthumous works

tears won’t spoil ink
as long dried as this

I weep for your grave
a thousand li distant

the sky let me stay
but the white sun took you

the phoenix has fallen
the crane’s yet to fly

whenever a pure wind blows
that’s when I hear our old conversation

grasses wither
the heart weighs

yet the mind opens
flowers blossom again







373
nine poems for the early death of apricots

preface
the early death of apricots
like son’s still at a mother’s breast

petals fell like frost
I make these poems to remember

1
don’t touch the buds with a cold hand
pearls will be wrecked

sudden frost –
don’t harm the Spring
or the world will lose its shine

unheeding day is
and cruel night

buds not even opened scatter
not even a palm full of petals

2
I pick stars from the earth
now the branches are bare
the old man’s sons are gone

a wild duck without water
worse than crows stealing
other birds’ nests

a chick can sing with the wind
will fly when it knows
which way the wind blows

yes there are sighs
for wordless souls fled
but there’s no returning to life


3
tears fall
they go to the heartwood
then no flowers form at the shoot

as short Spring
as grief is deep

nothing will grow
from salt


4
the moon shone
once my sons had passed

now sons and moon
both belong to the sky

better dust on the ground
than this gnarled heart


5
does the soil suffer under my feet?
do the roots recoil?
how can the sky know I’m sincere?

thousands of buds
have fallen from twigs

Spring won’t enter the house of a stranger
haven’t you heard that said?