A one-room hut
Alone on a mountain
Only two and a half walls
To protect it from nature
A small alcove
A wooden shelf
A low table
No more than that

To live here in seclusion
And write poems
Practice Buddhism
Watch cherries blossom
A thousand-year-old relic
Like I’m back in the past
Vines and moss
A simpler life

The only foreign visitor
In a Japanese bunch
Birds singing
Picnics by the hut
Serene by day
What would it feel like at night?
Probably scary enough
To thank the sunrise

I can still watch it
He is underground
Someday I’ll join him
Till then, I’ll cry.