May 06^th, 2023

The stream’s clear enough to see pebbles
My ungabled hut shrouded by vines
Gibbons howl late at night when the moon sets
Few guests get past the moss on the cliffs
Bamboos in the yard bend with spring snow
Plum trees on the ridge stand gnarled by winter nights.
The solitude of this path never varies
Grinding a brick on a rock is a waste.