Seven Grasses of Autumn

Among seven grasses of autumn:

Gutei holds up one finger.

A bird sings.

Ancient light rustles from green torches of cryptomeria.

Crows fly for hours.

Water pours from the upper lakes all night.


Out of sleep, a dark universe slowly ripens.


At the close of the ninth month,

A great wind arrives in ghostdance

of untroubled leaves…


I should abandon public life

while the color yet remains.