You neatly told me
That your muse is more a student
Of mountain writing
Than of poems; the way they go in
And out, all natural and deserted.

How otherwise can one know
The heart of the matter than
To isolate the heart, at least
For a moment or several, with
What remains of earth and air?

Leave it alone without water.
Send it into the woods with nothing but
A flimsy packet of beef jerky,
No swimwear, and hope
That the sky doesn't pour itself in riot.

So be ready for anything with
The grace to let the self be
Washed, dunked in a lake
Of coffee to emerge what it could
Have been from the beginning.

There are nights,
blue sky coming through the window
the last orange of the sun
no longer aglow
when I seek myself.

She is a daughter.
She is a son.
She is the weird and wary night coming in
                                                              ­        slowly.

softly
like an idly turning spinnerette
she awakes.

There is a morning,
fog traipsing through the mountain
around the trees
and to my door
when I see myself.

i am night-locked
this sudden darkness makes me wonder
if the sun is blocked
or is it some sort of punishment
whatever it is
i don't mind
some people forget
the sun blinds
i prefer
the cool night
and to hang out
with the fireflies
mountains whisper
to me a secret bliss
and my cheeks
the moonlight likes to kiss
dewdrops
and dusky roses
night-lock
is awfully lovely
when you have
firefly friends
and flowers
in your hair
and perfume
on the wind.

Sycophants.
That Great Tree burns all around us.
Can you smell it?
Can you sense the presence?
That Great Old One, that Great Old Tree burns.
Beckons.
It's smoke rises up and crosses the sky 4-fold.
No bombs may stop it.
A fate lined delusion, to which, even the children succumb.

On the ground and among the spit and slander is the shelter of wisdom.

This must be so.
>>>The waves build and grow on one another.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

Skins who claim to see are blind to themselves.
>>>The waves build and grow on those nearby.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

Formless connected masses gather and execute their souls.
>>>The waves flood and spread their swirls.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

On lookers below the pyramid find mercy in their death.
>>>>The waves spare nothing and the wall burns inside.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

The tree smolders and finds union among the people of the AIR.
Few understand these images.
All will come to feel these images.
In beauty none will see it.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR GREAT FLOOD.

The infinite forms of the depths sprout new seeds upon the space where we may walk.
The path before us is along a prime meridian that none can follow.
The eternal eternal from whence we came.
And to which we will go.

This, all will know.

From among the mountains,
A road to climb beyond the heavens above, is starlit,
A bridge of stars connects the sky, where no darkening clouds even dare to reach this scenery, yet my vision is clouded, for I cannot grasp the events of what is occuring undearneath me,
If this earth were to shake I am sure I would be unaware of it,
Until I were to step down from this wondrous dream of an illusion without any pain or hardship, a mirage of a lifeless landscape,
Air so thin it takes your breath, silently, relentlessly,
Trees embrace the mountainside alike a span of green sleeves,
I am sure, the noise of life is what is embracing me once I am at the lowest point, as the scent of blooming flowers spreads throughout the land, though the sunshine might be taken away by the sky if I stay,
So I chose a life in isolation, taking my own voice to watch the prideful light of the morning glow warm my lonesome skin,
Unheard and unseen by anyone, only because of the fear;
That rainclouds could wash away what little happiness I fathom,
Yet, the price for such foolishness deemed itself too high,
As I lost vision, of what else is beautiful,
The cycle of life.

~ Umi