A heron by the pool, a mountain cloud, Either of them makes the mind content. The faintest ripples still and evening s here. The moon turns silver and I dream, Tonight leaning on a single oar, Drifting without thought of going home. Living in the Hills Alone, at peace, I close the door. Shut out the sky s evening flame.
Cranes settle in the pines.
No one comes to try my gate. Bamboo tender with new growth. Red lotus shedding its old sleeves. A light glows down by the ford. They come home.