Breathe Poems

This is inspired by my correspondence with an editor of an international haiku journal who publishes each haiku in the journal in at least two languages.

Imagine attempting to convey the paradox, the connotations, the idiomatic idiosyncrasies of a poem—even a short one; especially a short one the entire raison d'etre of which rests in those exact connotations and idiosyncrasies...

Amazing, yes, that there are people with such passion for words, for poetry; people so convinced that words are necessary and vital, and that poems are the equivalent of oxygen in terms of sustaining life?

How to thank someone for such a love of words?

Read poems, write poems, breathe poems.

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do not disturb
wondering if
the pebble feels

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for each grave
a different verb
carried, lifted, borne

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the translator
who speaks no language
waning moon