Haiga Archive

How still it is here—
stinging into the stones.
the locust’s trill

Come out, come crawling out—
underneath the silkworm hut
the voice of a toad.

They make me recall
a lady’s powder puff—
these saffron blossoms.

Making the coolness
my abode, here I lie
completely at ease.

Plagued by fleas and lice,
I hear the horses staling
Right by my pillow

Have the rains of spring
spared you from their onslaught,
shining hall of Gold?

The summer grasses—
of brave soldiers’ dreams
the aftermath