Bokelskere.no

The smoke
rising
from a hut
high on the peak—
I would see it
as a fishing line
descending
from
the River of Heaven.

Our pledge
of love—
is as the dew
of evening
hanging on grasses
withered
by the winds
blowing
at the far edge
of autumn fields.

For those grown old
both reality
and dreams
are
within a dream
that provides us
some diversion
as we live on,
dawn to dusk.

Fine flakes of snow
melt
into
the empty sky——
falling then
as dew,
descending then
as drizzle,
onto
a frozen garden.

Too weary
is my heart
to advance
any further
on the way of love—
a horse
not up
to the race,
slowly being left
behind.

Yes,
the gods above
have given us
treasured truths
we should obey,
but it is
the lies of men
that stand out
in the world.

Even in
one’s sleep,
it is
dreams of this world
one sees,
and of
no other;
just as there is
no dawning here
that brings
true awakening.

All these images
from
a world
of long ago —
of what good are they?
Pine winds, come—
please blow away
these unforgotten
dreams.

Whatever
one sees
in the midst
of one’s sleep
ends
with waking;
but the dreams
one has while awake
sleeping
won’t make you forget.

Has the water frozen?
From a wellrope
hauled up
from far below
in
the depths
of summer—
a cascade
of white jewels.