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Ryu Yotsua




like hornbeam flowers let your poems hang down your body

 

 

 

snowbells are thinkers-   their flowers are prone to dream

 

 

 

dumped ashes-   a spider runs away from the rising dust

 

 
 

 

the cembalo piece's sound drops and lies... just like ashes

 

 

 

 

"how bitter dew on the grass are !"  the nymphs tell to each other 



 

 

My heart beats
like a swell
of sparrows



Summer morning ~
mist is coming up
in the shape of a shoe



Lily,
sticking up in a vase ~
thunder's little brother!






Translation: Gilles Fabre






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