Mist lies on the grass and behind the stage-flat trees.
Mist comes out of the mouth in a fierce cold of dawn. I have an image of my body, transparent, and through it, the slopes of the mountain. During zazen, an image of Bodhidharma lying on his side, two black dots of eyes. I go home and fill in the other black dot eye on the Bodhidharma from Kyoto. In the bright sun, a cow tells, Mu-u.