I Wind shakes the grass. Its upright posture Is torn apart. A voice awakens The ashes. The news is written On vanishing dew.

II It encircles the reeds and flows Along the two banks of the stream. The reflection on the water Has no light. Suddenly a splash. The shadow of a face Descends like night on stone.

III Leaning against the wind, he stands. Grass withers between his brows. The stars descend into the midnight river, Emptied by the storm. He who has never worn shoes Has gone far away but is still inaudibly near.

           (translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung)