The Abbess of Jakko-in walks and asks:
Is there anything that does not change?
The maples burn with their own death.
Beside their ashen trunks, stones
gleam with moss and bamboo-ladled blessings.
Is there anything that is not painful?
A bony leaf shatters in the pond
where suns and moons of coins
catch fire.
Is there anything that is not empty?
Paper prayers hang like moths
on a brushwork branch
against a smoking sky.
Is there anything that is unselfish?
The iron brazier smokes with incense
clouding the torii gate
like a dragon’s breath.