It’s all an empty boat, oars dangling free,
but return goes on without end. The year

begins, and suddenly, in a moment’s glance,
midyear stars come back around, bright

sun and moon bringing all things to such
abundance. North woods lush, blossoming,

rain falls in season from hallowed depths.
Dawn opens. Summer breezes rise. No one

comes into this world without leaving soon.
It’s our inner pattern, which never falters.

At home here in what lasts, I wait out life.
A bent arm my pillow, I keep empty whole.

Follow change through rough and smooth,
and life’s never up or down. If you can see

how much height fills whatever you do, why
climb Hua or Sung, peaks of immortality?

translated by David Hinton