Clear Water


in clear water
there is no back
no front


coolness—
strangers on a bridge
deep in night


unveiled
mountain meeting mountain;
first mists


plum-blossom scent—
whither has the snow
woman been blown?


the sound of the waterfall
narrows; in the peaks
cicada voices


first wild geese—
a lengthening line
of long nights


on moor and mountain
nothing moves—
snowy morning


the moon’s shadow,
too, pauses—cherry
blossom dawn


winter drizzle—
in a room yesterday
today ends


whatever we wear;
we look beautiful
viewing the moon

             --Michael Haldane  
                Basho and the Haikuists

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