You have lived a long time
at Pa-hsing Temple;
retired, you’re preparing
only now to leave.
On the verge of parting, we look
out upon the bright water of autumn;
you’re not returning to your hometown
nor to the countryside near it.
You will hang your Buddhist staff in a tree
where the sky reaches to a watery horizon;
where the door-leaf of your hut
opens on great mountains.
Below, you will see dawn
a thousand li away;
a miniature sun
born of a cold white sea.
translated by Mike O’Connor