Sublime

Teishin,

One of these was the haiku poet Taneda Santoka.

They took us with groans. They took us with shouts and long-drawn-out moans.

One of them picked up a shovel and spaded earth. Since coming to the camp, their guilt had died and left behind a husk, whose hair and flesh were crackly like onion skin. We buried the husks and covered them with dirt, each scoop sending them further away, to some far-off place. All of us were crying never-ending violent tears. Then over on the

zelkova tree