They cross the road
swimming

like a school of fish
in the liquid night

and I'm caught
between several things

day and dusk
clarity confusion
calm and storms

but they cross the road
moving

with martial purpose
instinctively to

an unseen light

Whit Howland © 2020

Made from a rug
or material that
was mostly available

it's what cats claw
score and mark

but never strike
or line out with
a pencil or a pen

Whit Howland © 2020

We can't bring it back

can we

I know I've asked this
before

it's a  nagging question

that like a hamster
goes round and round
on an exercise wheel

and it's caused by
knowing
that what we had

we now love miss
and don't have  
anymore

though simple math
it's no less frustrating

Whit Howland © 2020

Plastic axles
connect
to plastic wheels
then the chassis
and last
but not least
comes the body
then finally
the paint and detail

life
model
a poem

written to scale

Whit Howland © 2020

That ever elusive
clear blue

water we chased
was actually

cloudy from rain and
agitation

goodbye friend
I feel I hardly knew
you

there's so much
to be said

but

no time
and not enough
language

to express
the proper sentiments

of such parting sorrow

Whit Howland © 2020

Down below
a lighthouse rusts
it's

not sad just
getting on in years

if there was an edge
of Earth this would
be it although

it is not the end but
much
like the beginning

and clearly seen

as a globe spinning
on its axis

Whit Howland © 2020