All night it rained
and water coursed

through the downspouts
like blood through our veins

this morning
a red leaf leftover from the fall

floats

in one of the many finger lakes
that was once our backyard

and does pirouettes
in a water ballet all its own

I was young
and you were young

as we attached the trike
to the steel tongue

and pulled the wagon
around the driveway

a snapshot
capturing a mise-en-scene long

oh so long ago

but what really is it
I'm looking at

with sunspots
and the color washed out

over time

possibly
the first moment

you and I began to know
what it meant

to pull a heavy load

whit howland © 2021

Went to the store
for bread

eggs sugar
and milk

don't worry
about this morning

all will be well

~
taking sides
picking flowers
dead and buried
on the surface line

counting hostages
trading stamps
extended infinitely
at right angles

cozy spaces
married couples
perpendicular
legs and mingled stria
one over the other

It's all conjugated
hyperbola
a tourist trap
with zero interest
for a year
~

It's the bubbles
in the clear green glass

that pull me away
from the day

lost in more than thought
abstractions

and absurdities

the graveyard
where the mind is laid to rest

More than just a flower
with white petals

you were and still are
life

the kind
that's a hot breath

in the face

with just a little drool
on the kitchen floor

whit howland © 2021