Haiga Archive

coal-wrapped
or seaweed, each message
an icon, a way
to build our shells
pull stone into our bellies
push out to sea

woodpecker
in death, the long red thrust
of its tongue

afterglow
darkness gathers
around our feet

crescent moon
golden slippers
for the prom

ice fishing—
the wind bites
first

I cannot speak of
Yudono, but see how wet
my sleeve is with tears

From Hot Springs Mountain
all the way to Blowing Bay—
the cool of evening