In pale moonlight / the wisteria's scent / comes from far away.

Calligraphy of geese
against the sky-
the moon seals it.

The behavior of the pigeon
is beyond reproach,
but the mountain cuckoo?

You must remain. I must depart.
Two autumns falling in the heart.

Real haiku is the soul of poetry. Anything that is not actually present in one's heart is not haiku. The moon glows, flowers bloom, insects cry, water flows. There is no place we cannot find flowers or think of the moon. This is the essence of haiku. Go beyond the restrictions of your era, forget about purpose or meaning, separate yourself from historical limitations—there you will find the essence of true art, religion, and science.

Haiku is not a shriek, a howl, a sigh, or a yawn; rather, it is the deep breath of life.