Your heart knows
the way to Heng Mountain;
you are not afraid
few people go there.
Inside the boat,
you still hear birds and temple chimes;
at the river’s source,
you dry your monk’s robe in the sun.
You had a family,
but left it when young;
now there is no temple
that would not welcome you.
Managing to find
a shelter in the cold,
you do your usual zazen
as snow fills up your door.
Shundo David Haye 