Meandering these greens, azure all around, you plumb antiquity.
East of the wall, above the river, stands this ancient monastery,
its thatched halls we visited so long ago. You a mountain sage,
I here from Wei River northlands: we sipped wine, wrote poems.
Painted paddle still, I drift awhile free. Then soon, I’m nearing
home, azure walking-stick in hand, my recluse search ending.
Old friends dead and gone, their houses in ruins, I walk through
thick bamboo, deep cloud, each step a further step into confusion.
translated by David Hinton
Leonard Durso 
that is truly a long title… 🙂
Almost as long as some of his poems.
Heartbreaking and beautiful. Thanks for posting.
It does sort of take one’s breath, doesn’t it? Glad you liked it.
Reblogged this on Leonard Durso.