Haiga Archive

early morning mist
only silence
steps out

melting away
comfort
craving
your voice
calling
for spring

This is the way it will end. Not with poetry or fine wine or a second chance, but with burning pyres of lego and bathmats and the New York Times. There are always those that think they can go back, if they could only go back, just once, they could change everything.

a ray of light
on the confessional seat
…crossroads

emergent cliff
heading across the soggy sand
and in this tin-like landscape
only an empty nest

wyłaniający się klif
zmierza po grząskim piasku
a w tym cynowym pejzażu
tylko puste gniazdo

spring equinox
day and night
just as cold

a butterfly
on
the
hat
brim
I miss
my bus