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