ToBurton Watson

                    Sovery much learned

                    fromthe feet of a master—

                    thefall of the Ch’in,

                    therise of the T’ang and Sung,

                    talesfrom Masters Chuang and K’ung—

                    thelong dusty roads

                    ofthe various poets

                    andmonks, and sutras

                    chanted,the sake cups filled

                    withkinship and harmonies,

                    hardshipsremembered.

                    Itis December, the moon

                    full,snow turned to ice

                    onthe frozen ground. I raise

                    acup of good Nihonshu 

                    to amaster, a

                    lifetime’scompanionship in

                    wanderingborders.

                    Throughhard times and good, decade

                    bydecade, when my heart yearned

                    forgood company,

                    Ialways knew where to turn.

                    Tonight,just a cup

                    belowLi Po’s cold clear moon—

                    becauseit is impossible

                    todrink alone.