Haiga Archive

black clouds
chasing a muddled bird
with no mate—
if i turned around
you might think I’m crying

rain showers—
orange peel
on the hot asphalt

Viennese waltz—
a caterpillar waving
on the window pane

some chaos
of noisy birds and then again,
emptiness—
words are so ephemeral
I’d rather draw it for you

scent of a field
flooding from a tea bag—
perfect date

old hands
getting new wings—
snow angel

an artifact
on the line of life—
the flaccid hand
in the other hand,
that’s it