Haiku with Yukari

atrium— April is delivered like a pizza a dog overtaking bikes― spring river scattering flowers on a window after bathing― nata de coco a long day― stretching out on an unpurchased bed a new employee standing like a life-size panel   an azalea night I might be poor or not living in the neighborhood in sweatpants on Showa Day the quiet distortion called home― flowering dogwood pushing a lettuce core in to hollow it out flower irises blooming at an elementary school with no one   wearing a serious T-shirt to go get checked a banana peel curved like a banana on the curtain ebb and flow of a night Dazai’s Day a house with roses a small tank drying up pulling a folding chair the flower mat slightly warps   a newly built house dozing in white spider’s afternoon forgetting your name yet not forgetting your perfume name in the shadows hydrangeas break each other apart an outer side like an inner side an insect net...