Haiga Archive

the morning mist
rises up to meet the dawn
like a priestess robed
in liquid light—blessing
everything on which it rests

braille trail markers—
closing my eyes
to feel the tree

what good will it do
to watch the dim light
of your words
trying for the walls
of this widening moment?

their nest
it started with
one stick

dawn
the croak from on frog
starts a round

sand dollar—
the whole ocean becomes
my wishing well

winter fog
everything familiar
unfamiliar