The compression grip of longing grabs my heart
And squeezes it.
It occurs whenever I ponder on a life I have not
Lived yet or a feeling that I long to experience.
Whenever I feel incomplete or unsure,
Or need reassurance; it comes and goes
Like a summer breeze.
But the beat goes on and on.

I took a risk today
and trimmed the stems

on a bouquet
of roses

then I put them
in a vase I filled with water

before presenting
them

to my wife
thus proving

the poetry is in the making
of

and not in the actual
pudding itself

Whit Howland © 2020