Real Poetry, Is To Lead A Beautiful

Summer Grasses — All That Remains Of Great Soldiers' Imperial Dreams.

First Snow-falling-on The Half-finished Bridge.

Go To The Object. Leave Your Subjective Preoccupation With Yourself. Do Not Impose Yourself On The Object. Become One With The Object. Plunge Deep Enough Into The Object To See Something Like A Hidden Glimmering There.

Now The Swinging Bridge Is Quieted With Creepers ... Like Our Tendrilled Life.

There Is Nothing You Can See That Is Not A Flower; There Is Nothing You Can Think That Is Not The Moon.