The guy
who fears his wife

All he does at work:
count the number of hairs
in his lord's nostrils

In Yoshiwara
the women are showing their wares
this evening —
blossoms glowing in the echoes
of the vesper bells.

They printed a hundred Hell-black lies,
They printed a hundred white;
They printed a hundred piebald lies
To prove me wrong and right.
The lies were sent to the North and South,
The lies were sent to the West;
They follow me here by word of mouth,
But still I can write and rest.

Autumn going —
parting for Futami
a clam pried from its shell

Between the waves —
mixed with small shells
petals of bush clover

Cloud peaks
crumbling one after another —

Shaving my head
at Black Hair Mountain —
time for summer clothes.

Not until you find a meaning in yourself, will you find a meaning in the world.
That is what ails you ...
Your inner confusion your perceive all about you,
Once you get purpose into your life, you will see it in all life.

Vast is the city, concealing fires behind its walls, its streets and its faces:
So for the adventure I choose the spacious night,
And go forth marvelling at what may happen:
Tripping along, breathless, on the edge of the possible.