488. Thousands of bamboo plants along a river in autumn. And nobody there among them. (None that we know of at least.) And, indeed, why should anyone be there just at the moment? No, the water is always making that cruel, disdainful, draining sound.

489. He hides among the shrubs. Yellow; red; green; black. Are birds more fortunate than this? A blade thrusting, hacking.

490. An Expository Note ‘The symbolism of this denuded plum-tree, Growing on the very rim of a cliff, beside A broken bridge, should be indisputably obvious. If not, the severed ear nearby may help to clarify matters.’

491. A Traveller’s Inscription ‘I fear that this small bridge over an irregular inlet Links one irrelevant point with yet another irrelevant point In the time-honoured manner of the best old, rural bridges. But I’ll find the right place hereabout eventually, I suppose.’

492. The disturbed scholar awakes from his disturbing dream. He lights his candle, and looks round hesitantly. What is the source of that slight but insistent sound? What? No! Is it really all only a wooden symbol?

