Reading Basho, I Notice the Cicadas

The tympanal clicks in the hottest hours

counting out a song in another language.

One of mating, and not of love,

that I know well and repeat myself

in the five seven of this poem.

 


Two Haiku by Basho

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

Lonely silence,
a single cicada’s cry
sinking into stone