Haiga Archive

black clouds
chasing a muddled bird
with no mate—
if i turned around
you might think I’m crying

…
the only one arriving
is the storm

together once more
in our old folk’s house—
two straw hats hanging
on the antler
of a glass-eyed deer

shortest day
I light up my only
scented candle

a charcoal sun
drawn below the windows
frost flowers

life line—
rusty leaves
squeezed in my hand

summer rain
pushing the garden gate
to its limits