In Basho's house
there are no walls,
no roof, floors
or pathway -
nothing to show
where it is,
yet you can enter
from any direction
through a door
that's always open.
You hear voices
though no one
is near you -
you'll listen without
knowing you do.
Time and time
you get up to greet
a stranger coming
towards you.
No one ever appears.
Hours and seasons
lose their names -
as do passing clouds.
Rising moon and setting sun
no longer cast shadows.
Sounds drift in
like effortless breathing -
frogsplash, birdsong,
echoes of your
own footsteps.
It all ceases
to exist in Basho's house -
the place you've entered
without knowing
you've taken a step.
Sit down. Breathe
in, breathe out.
Close your tired eyes.
Basho is sitting beside you -
a guest in his own house.
~ Peter Skyzynecki
from: Old/New World: New & Selected Poems
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