After the Gentle Poet Kobayashi Issa

New Year’s morning— everything is in blossom! I feel about average. A huge frog and I staring at each other, neither of us moves. This moth saw brightness in a woman’s chamber— burned to a crisp. Asked how old he was the boy in the new kimono stretched out all five fingers. Blossoms at night, like people moved by music Napped half the day; no one punished me! Fiftieth birthday: From now on, It’s all clear profit, every sky. Don’t worry, spiders, I keep house casually. These sea slugs, they just don’t seem Japanese. Hell: Bright autumn moon; pond snails crying in the saucepan.