She chases light with her cot and desk
in winter, looking south,
in summer, looking north.
in the morning, sun. At night, stars
With
the large windows, which she had retrieved from a salvage pile, she
finds company in sunbeams, songbirds, even a passing fox. At night,
lying on her cot, she discovers the Milky Way entangled in bare twigs
and branches. What is there to discuss about koans that is not like
arguing over the color of the sky?
Out of the way, I don’t seek the carriages of the eminent.
At dawn pear-blossom rain splashes my secluded window,
At dusk I borrow fragments of stars to mend broken tiles.
-- Wang Duanshu (1621–ca. 1680), tr. Zong-Qi Cai