Are you happy?
someone asked me
of late at just
the right
moment

I hesitated
What exactly is
happiness?
Not wealth
or fame

It is not
to be found
in dopamine
or dancing
through life

Not
godliness
ascetiscism
or contentment
But it surely feels like

an approximation of a
certain moment of bliss
that even now
I cannot fully
apprehend

AH 2018

The pine tree of Shiogoshi
Trickles all night long
Shiny drops of moonlight.

A cicada shell;
it sang itself
    utterly away.

How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
    life is fleeting.

Stillness--
the cicada's cry
    drills into the rocks.

A caterpillar,
this deep in fall--
    still not a butterfly.

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

Spring:
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist.

The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green.

The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.

A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron's cry.

A field of cotton--
as if the moon
    had flowered.