20140609

Natsuko Hirata


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Trampled. Very special hurts.
My summer doesn't come yet.

Let's drop invisible roses onto the horizon

to be sure
I came.

Algorithm
tracks whenever
still they are speaking.



Hippocampus
is walking on the
piano keys.

My Roses--much better.

Blowing on you.


The Time Machine
 
         The time machine
                          landed on
                         the sea side
                               when I 
                              was fish 
                          in the sea.
(But the color of the sea was not so good.)
 
                               Dredge.
 
I jumped into it to see the past
and could see 
                             the future you.
     
                                        Windy, 
                                floating tree.
 
                           You bore twigs,
                                   as before. 
               Conviction of that trunk.



Natsuko Hirata is a resident of Tokyo, She is the editor of Quince Wharf, an e-journal that includes translations into Japanese of poetry in English, and she has done translations of the work of Sandy McIntosh and Thomas Fink. Her poetry has appeared in the Marsh Hawk Review.
 
 
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