Consider the words of cosmologist Lawrence M. Krauss in his fascinating book A Universe from Nothing (Free Press, 2012):
“One of the most poetic facts I know about the universe is that essentially every atom in your body was once inside a star that exploded. Moreover, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than did those in your right. We are all, literally, star children, and our bodies made of stardust.”
We are not separate from the universe; the universe is us. We look at the stars, and all we see is ourselves in different form. There we are, shining in the night sky. The same when we look at a bird, or a rock, or a tree. A human is the universe “human-ing.” A cow is the universe “cow-ing.” A star is the universe “star-ing.”
The peach trees blooming wildly,
The first cherry blossoms.
The universe as peach blossoms, the universe as cherry blossoms, the universe as Bashō, the universe as me writing this, the universe as you reading it.
That is the way to hokku — oneness of subject (the writer) and object (that which is written about).