There’s a man inhaling dawn-colored
clouds
whose home eludes the ordinary.
His every season is refreshingly austere,
summer and fall being all the same.
A secret stream is always stirring.
Tall pines are whispering in the
wind.
If one remains here for half a day,
a lifetime of disquiet is erased.
translations: 27-red pine;117-tanahashi; 22-henricks
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