Variations on 100 Poems (#59)

I know you're worried.
But go to sleep.
You can do no good
staying awake all night
watching the moon write its name
over and over on the river's surface.

Variations on 100 Poems (#58)

The wind rolls
down the mountain
into the fields
that surround Kyoto
like so many samurai
riding invisible horses.

Variations on 100 Poems (#57)

Passing in the street
I could not tell
if it was you or not
because the moon
covered its face
in clouds.

Variations on 100 Poems (#56)

Let's face it: death
isn't too far off
and once I'm gone
and I've forgotten all this
my only memory
will be you.

Variations on 100 Poems (#55, variant B)

I remember there being a waterfall
here. You could hear it
as you approached, like a factory
where water worked
away at the stone
grain by grain.
Now, the pool is dry
and the forest talks over us
like too many phone calls.
But I remember
the sound it made,
the way light came and went
making up the stories we would tell
about that secret spot we found
only we knew existed.

Variations on 100 Poems (#55)

The cascade ran dry
years ago and the pool is silent.
Yet its memory still flows
and its name fills my ears
with the rush of falling water.

Variations on 100 Poems (#54)

[or Philosophical Discourse on Life, Love, and the Impermanence of Existence]

Don't give me that
love you forever crap.
Love me now
or leave me alone.

Variations on 100 Poems (#53)

Lying in bed
all night long,
how can you
know how deep
the night is?

Variations on 100 poems (#52)

I know in my heart
that the darkness
will return.
Still, I hate
the unraveling light
at dawn.

Variations on 100 poems (#51)

How do you tell someone
what love is? What love means?
How do you tell them
what fire is
if they have never
warmed their hands
or burnt their fingers?