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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