A dog barks

amid the sound of water;

peach blossoms

hang heavy with dewdrops.

In the deep forest

I glimpse a passing deer;

the rushing brook

muffles the noonday bells.

Wild bamboos

slice through the green mist;

streams in flight

hang between emerald peaks.

Nobody knows

where the master has gone.

Left to wonder

I rest among some pines.

From Facing the Moon, translated by Keith Holyoak