Ojima Beach is not–as its name implies–an island, but a strand projected into the bay. Here one finds the runis of Ungo Zenji’s hermitage and the rock where he sat zazen…Smoke of burning leaves and pine cones drew me on, touching something deep inside. Then the moon rose, shining on the sea, day turned suddenly to night… Sora wrote:
you’ll need the wings of a crane
little cuckooBasho, “Narrow Road to the Interior” translated by Sam Hamill, The Essential Basho, p. 17
Daylight faded as we made our way to the car from Fine Arts building. From behind passing clouds, a waxing moon shone.
A drive through Binghamton’s downtown, which held a certain charm before we crossed the Susquahanna. Then, the worn-down, cramped houses common to any working-class neighborhood crowded the cross streets.
When I turned down Jarvis Street to show them the old fraternity house, I couldn’t find it. All that remained was a concrete slab.
a nightime drive home
through the catskills
Categories: haikai, haiku community
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