Wednesday, April 1, 2009


I pretend to be Basho

wandering here and there up

and down the mountain

pausing to write small

zen moment poems in

green silence or white

snow silence - garden

morning walks or 700 mile

treks searching for a

magic pollen place or a

clear bird song morning.

Frost did it, sure, but

Basho did it first. I am their

plump old woman disciple.

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