Haiga Archive

fisherman frozen
the ice fishing hole
an ink stain on paper

taming
the stones—
honeysuckle perfume

drought
the faint song
of crickets

pas de deux—
in the wind’s choreography
two falling leaves

hemmed in by snow—
red apples lined up
on the windowsill

painting
the same landscape
since yesterday…
a dripping tear points up
the need for moon

moanful wind
turns the leaves
into falling…
such a fitting eulogy
for the homeless artist