Hollowness

There is no cloud and there is no wind. I sit beside the pond the swimming fishes, light, I, flower, water the pureness of the cluster of life. My mother reaps the sweet basil bread, sweet basil, cheese, a cloudless sky, wet garden petunia within the garden flowers. Salvation is at hand over the footbath in a copper bowl what caresses the light pours. The ladder at the garden corner, brings morning on earth, a smile hides behind everything. The time’s wall has a hole through which my face is seen. There are things, which I do not know -I know- that I will die if I cut away a leaf I ascend, rise to the peak, I posses wings and feathers I can see in the darkness. I’m brimful of lanterns, I’m brimful of sun and sand, I’m brimful of vines, I’m brimful of path, of bridge, of river, of wave I’m brimful of the shadows of reeds in the water, I’m brimful of the movement of that willow tree at the garden’s end. How my inside is empty.