Haiga Archive

the day slips
through our fingers
sunfall

round pebbles
singing at the whim
of wavelets
this melody unchanged
for a thousand years

we weave
between tamaracks
following
a bird’s song that tugs
at the threads of memory

my singing bowl
half-filled with water…
i strike its rim
until ocean waves
manifest inside me

we hang
your threadbare dresses
out to air
the prairie wind waltzes
with you one last time

rogue wave
a limpet holds on
tighter

wet cobbles
outside the flower shop
fallen petals
have pasted a rainbow
to this dirty street