Considering poetry-books and selections,
I sense that the whole one is more than a verse
because ikebana, an art of collection,
has always a place in the sun on the earth.
The life rhythms like waves roll my thoughts and reflections
and cast them on reefs of exceptional rhymes.
These oceans as sea-ikebana collections
wash off all primordial mask, make-up, and grime.
Are synchronous boilings up of culminations?
Are always adjacent all lines' counting points?
Unspoken ikebana'll bring harmonization.
It is a child's play to art not to a bonze...
As it often happens, the skilled variation
of themes will reduce amplitude of my soul.
But such ikebana is wholesome like freshening.
O, how I long for this great problem to solve!..
I read poems running – in silence, aloud – and
set specks of reflections and echoes and – what
to do? – I trust my ikebana... Allow, dear,
relieve! Verses, be native, own, as I want!..
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