published December 30, 2014 - updated July 20, 2017 
Basho
in the cicada’s cry
no sign can foretell
how soon it must die
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from time to time
the clouds give rest
to the moon-beholders
old pond …
the frog jumps in
the sound of water
o snail
climb Mount Fuji
but slowly, slowly
Buson
over-ripe sushi
the master
is full of regret
blowing from the west
fallen leaves gather
in the east
Issa
a lovely thing to see
through the paper window’s hole
the galaxy
winter seclusion—
listening, that evening
to the rain on the mountain
Kijo
first autumn morning
the mirror I stare into
shows my father’s face
the moment two bubbles
are united, they both vanish—
the lotus blooms
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