Steps

How many stones
A thought may pass
To clean the self

Dust

Dust washed by the rain
With the gone raindrops
More dust settling in

Dust

Watching the dust
Settling over the ground
A broom’s calling

Autumn Cleaning

Cleaning the windows
From inside to the outside
Blurs of one’s breathing

Cleaning

Refining the mind
Without sweeping the staircase
A path without heart

Cleansing

One can use light
To clear the windows
Of perception

Dust

Life’s dust settles
On carried luggage
Sweeping the floor

Spring-Cleaning

In the old temple
Dusty corners need cleaning
Sweeping the ground floor