As I lean
On my oar, gazing
At the cloud-line, purity
Emerges, deep and lonely,
From the Gorge.
When the mind
Doesn’t have anything
On it, there’s no sorrow
Inherent in repeated calls. They bear
The dew where every peak is distant,
Dangle in space where a slice
Of Moon shines
Bright.
Whoever
Hears it like this
Can finish a poem
By dawn.
-Wen Chao, tr. by Paul Henson
from The Clouds Should Know Me By Now: Buddhist Poet Monks of China
, p.86
