I find haiku one of the most challenging forms of poetry. It looks simple and easy until you try to do it. I've read books by the old masters and the modern writers, and I never ceased to be impressed by the craft that goes into a good haiku.

The seasons are an important aspect of it—the weather, sky, nature. And I've always interpreted the form to have two images that don't appear to be related, but in the context of the poem, they reveal something about each other. That's what I was implying with the line, More than a landmark—that there's more to the Landmark than what you look at. It's something you experience.

The first time I went to the Landmark, I was really impressed. Today's theaters just can't compare to this.

In the beginning, the Poster Project emphasized downtown Syracuse, and I wanted to continue that tradition. I was hoping to combine my love of the form of haiku poetry with my love of music in a poem that honored Syracuse. I have been to the Jazz in the City concerts, so I tried to reflect the rhythmic elements of jazz in the rhythmic elements of my poem.

I have been reading and writing haiku poetry for many years. Coming from a long Japanese tradition, haiku usually contains references to nature or one of the seasons. Two lines show one image and the third line shows another. The skillful pairing of these images is the true power of haiku.

I don't get to downtown Syracuse often, so I thought I should spend some time watching, before I wrote anything. I started at the library in the Galleries, then I went out onto Salina Street. Eventually I noticed a busy bus stop in front of a deli. People were getting on or off, greeting each other. Some went into the deli.

When I write haiku, I like to bring two images together that might appear unrelated to each other; like the busy bus and the deli. Sometimes the images blend, sometimes they collide. This haiku was more like a fender bender.