As it rains at the old pond

The old pond;

A frog jumps in —

The sound of the water.

-Matsuo Basho, translated by R.H. Blyth

The sound of frogs croaking

by the old pond—

the moon’s reflection

shattered by frog legs.

Hiding beneath this old tree,

I watch the storm—

a torrent of frogs

scare away the moon.

Once, a carriage wheel

was caught by the mud–

a horse neighs

sending frogs toward heaven.

Now, this old dirt road

has been paved over—

what ever happened

to the rain and the frogs?

Even at midnight,

I cannot hear the thunder

through the din

of the new highway.

But, staring at the sky,

I can still see

the old frogs 

jumping.

A chance meeting

“Believe me, there is no such thing as great suffering, great regret, great memory…Everything is forgotten, even a great love.” -Albert Camus, A Happy Death

Lonely and drunk, I decide to take a walk

in the cemetery.

Reading headstones, I commune with the dead.

Believe me, If my love could have saved you

you would have lived.

Where have you gone my love?

I look for you among the plastic flowers

mourning for eternity,

but I lose myself

in the dying grass.

I lay down to sleep

but before I close my eyes,

a lone wolf startles me.

He stalks the dead from beyond

the chickenwire fence

and reminds me that even this

is an impermanent thing.