not two not one either
and the unpainted breeze in the ink painting feels cool
Ikkyu this body isn't yours I say to myself
wherever I am I'm there
when I was forty-seven everybody came to see me
so I walked out forever
my monk friend has a weird endearing habit
he weaves sandals and leaves them secretly by the roadside
even before trees rocks I was nothing
when I'm dead nowhere I'll be nothing
no nothing only those wintry crows
bright black in the sun
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