Haiga Archive

you didn’t notice you loved her until you watched her, back turned, hop-scotch across the sky. they didn’t ask for reasons, but cast their fears in metal, and waited for those long celestial hours to turn to clay. tracing a filigree road through the heavens, the hooligan spirits are spitting a canvas of litter and mud. it hangs in the met, between warhol and matisse, and turns trapezoid on every other thursday.

sun shower—
the ripple of rain
in my coffee

nightmare
sunrise
through storm clouds

blood line…
who will follow
in my footsteps?

the twang
of guitar strings
summer heat

a spiral of light
the sun
…eclipsed

afternoon shadows—
listening for the sound
of footsteps