January 22^nd, 2016

Saintly Bamboo

I love bamboo
it does not allow heat or cold to penetrate.
Experiencing frost—with effort—it makes a nub
through the day, solitary, it has an empty mind.
Below the moon, bamboo casts pure shadows
in wind, it chants a sutra.
Winter-white, the head bears a burden of snow
a temple's harmony emerges.