POND IN A BOWL

1

This old-timer’s like a sage monk, simple as a child:

draw water, bury a bowl—suddenly I’ve got a pond!

Green frogs call all night, straight through till dawn

and those good old days, lazy fishing at Square-Gape!

2

Don’t say you can’t really make a pond in a bowl.

Those lotus roots I planted are growing already!

From now on, when it rains, you can hurry over:

we’ll listen to its windblown patter on the leaves.

3

In my porcelain pool, water’s pure clarity at dawn.

Tiny insects, who knows what kind or how many,

scatter suddenly away, not a trace of them anywhere.

Just baby fish, in a school, darting here and there.

4

Muddy bowl, tiny, shallow—how could it be a pond?

Green frogs at midnight, sage masters, they know:

hearing a croak, they bring their friends—all that

squabbling male and female. Don’t mind the racket.

5

Alight, my pond mirrors sky, azure into azure.

I just pour in a few jars of water, fill it brimful,

then wait. Evening deepens and the moon sets,

and look, swimming down there: all those stars!