The Lost Garden (Haibun)

[Lake]

The Lost Garden

This garden that buds and thrives in spring and summer,
and ripens in autumn, now stands quiet in the piercing
winds. Shallow pond. No sound of water from jumping
frogs. In the gray skies, caws a storytelling of ravens.
A field of tall grasses, of which I can only name a few –
silver feather, little bluestem and purple moor, sway and
bend with their last sighs. A white rock, stripped of green
moss, juts out from the soil, cold and motionless. I look at
it; it stares back at me, without a word. How many times
I have come with delight, seeing all the flowers in profusion,
trees heavy-laden with apples and berries. How I mesmerize
myself with its picturesque landscape while imagining the
whereabouts of the gardener, whose chair, in this brick-paved
corner, remains empty. I wonder if the chair can draw me
closer to Basho. A bit hesitant, I walk over and sit down.


In stillness, listen:
a seed cracking in rhythms
underneath the ground

.
_________________
the trouble with poetry is that it encourages the writing of more poetry -- Billy Collins

[戴玨]

不錯，不過
I wonder if the chair can draw me
closer to Basho.
這句似乎不必要。
_________________
I labour by singing light
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[Lake]