I draw water from the well to wash my teeth
And purify my mind as I clean my clothes.
Idly turning the pages of my book
I step out to the eastern library.

No one wants the true teachings
The world follows upon false tracks.
I had hoped the words bequeathed me
Would be profound,
But how can one write down
The true nature of things?

It is quiet here in the temple courtyard
Where the colors of moss join the dense bamboos.
The sun clears away the last of the morning mist
And the green pines seem sleeked with oil

Wordless I try to speak.
Realization floods my heart with rest.