By Robert Hass
New Year’s morning—
everything is in blossom!
I feel about average.
A huge frog and I
staring at each other,
neither of us moves.
This moth saw brightness
in a woman’s chamber—
burned to a crisp.
Asked how old he was
the boy in the new kimono
stretched out all five fingers.
Blossoms at night,
like people
moved by music
Napped half the day;
no one
punished me!
Fiftieth birthday:
From now on,
It’s all clear profit,
every sky.
Don’t worry, spiders,
I keep house
casually.
These sea slugs,
they just don’t seem
Japanese.
Hell:
Bright autumn moon;
pond snails crying
in the saucepan.
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