Haiga Archive

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

together once more
in our old folk’s house—
two straw hats hanging
on the antler
of a glass-eyed deer

cracking ice
around the hole—
on my birthday
many condolences
and a few fish

walking back and forth
on my own footsteps
dying embers