Blue herons, blue night,
silhouettes on their way home,
the sun, already set.
View up close in the gallery.
Maybe more so than other forms of poetry, the haiku lets you be in the moment with the poet who wrote it. You are with Basho looking at the moon and feeling lonely, with Shiki seeing a trout in the river that is the color of the river, with Jack Kerouac at the sea contemplating nothingness… It is comforting—the shadows that fall, the birds that move with the seasons, the questions and longing that persist for centuries.