At Lumen-Empty Monastery, Visiting the Hermitage of Master Jung, My Departed Friend
The blue-lotus roof standing beside a pond, White-Horse Creek tumbling through forests, and my old friend some strange thing now. A lingering visitor, alone and grief-stricken after graveside rites among pines, I return, Looking for your sitting-mat spread on rock. Bamboo that seems always my own thoughts: It keeps fluttering here at your thatch hut.