The sounds of the valley are his long broad tongue
The colours of the mountains are none other than his pure body.
Through the night, I hear the eighty-four thousand verses.
In the morning, how can I tell them to others?
I am rather surprised that I have not used this poem yet, as it is one of my favourites, and also very well known. Reading the Shobogenzo Keisei Sanshiki brought it back to mind the other day.
Of course I think of Tassajara – this is the gorge by the Horse Bridge on the Arroyo Seco