Next Morning Letter

Savoring each summer moment

lush and brief

I close my eyes to see

your white robe, falling open

as you call for your scroll

and ink stone, a brush

As your brush passes over the paper

my body shivers

How closely now you watch

at the open lattice

as your servant hurries away

the next morning letter

tethered to

a spray of clematis

whose blossoms will not open

until they reach me

In the washbasin

your face is

the bridge that spans

the floating world of dreams

Now you are yawning

Now you are reciting sutras

bowing to the wind

When the letter arrives

all the leaves of the maple

outside my window

are stirred

I read your words

just once, then once again

bringing my fingers

to my lips, my hair

On the dawn's trellis

the scent of clematis

Now smell your fingers

The petals of my body

gather in your empty arms

How shall I respond?

The cry of the stag

is so loud

the echo answers

from the empty mountains

as if it were a doe

I tell you only what you know

Clematis—the scent

of your teaching surrounds me

My empty arms fill

Come night, the fragrant petals

fall in a heap at my feet

(Kaigetsudo Doshin, Beauty Writing a Letter, a hanging scroll)