I found you in the pages of an old LIFE magazine.
You were attending the 1939 Flower and Poetry
Festival of Nagasaki, Japan.
Western dress that appears hand painted,
your parasol over one shoulder like Florets
and bleached Gessamine, visible white clog
at the hem, reciting from memory...
The Hinocheo train
steams into white snow
the color of my aging
lover's hair.
eyes hidden beneath your metal glasses
that sit like an etched watermark
vaporous gold on Imperial stationery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem