Like vanishing dew,a passing apparitionor the sudden flashof lightning -- already gone --thus should one regard one's self.

that stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it getsI wave my skinny arms like a tall flower in the wind

we're lost where the mind can't find usutterly lost

Hearing a crow with no mouthCry in the deepDarkness of the night,I feel a longing forMy father before he was born.

don't wait for the man standing in the snowto cut off his arm help him now

it isn't that we're alone or not alonewhose voice do you want mine? yours?

Every day, priests minutely examine the Dharma And endlessly chant complicated sutras.Before doing that, though, they should learnHow to read the love letters sent by The wind and rain, the snow and moon.

I'd love to give you somethingbut what would help?

clouds very high looknot one word helped them get up there