Haiga Archive

chilly wind
abandoned spider’s web
trembles

heat wave
I’m trying to remember
the touch of rain

fala upałów
próbuję przypomnieć sobie
dotyk deszczu

autumn chill
the last butterflies wander
through my room

a blade descending—
the serrated edge
of mountains

fallen nest—
the hands take
its shape

morning lake
a bather turns her back
to the swan

How long have I been sitting here,
O Nautilus
shell densely wedged beneath this hopeful wisp
of sapphire sky
or pared-back moon,
my February gray?