After Master Basho.

The old pond;

weeds and water
quietly conspire
to forget each other
in mutual rendering

a shrimp, a dragonfly
and me
watching hungrily


A frog jumps in:

the sting
ripples throughout
faster than memory
flailing obscene in the drink

I am alive
before myself
warts and all
freshly wet in the pan


Plop!

It has been said
by the wise and the mad
that stones speak
water remembers

I have listened
to their talk
in light and in the dark
thirsty for nothing

but this one drop.

(based on the translation of Basho by Allen Ginsberg)

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