I want to see
your face, your eyes
Through the steam of our coffees
Know
every line
of your smile in sunlight
Trace my words along...
every micro-expression...
Every hint of hesitation
The fault lines
of our desolations
of our hopes

Desire--
of our fears
And, in all our failings
The apology of years

Bare feet wanting to bury in the sand and ocean foam
but relentlessly feeling the ice cold marble in an endless room
Somber night glooms over even in daytime like the sun never rises from the east
and every morning feels like a recurring dream to reach for the stars and lay with the clouds
As if either the sea or the sky that owns my tranquility

I always thought we were the perfect match.
But matches are meant
                                   to ignite
                                         and burn out.

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,

Let me do nothing to
disrupt the flow

a truck is stuck

the tires spin
throwing up mud

the deeper down
it goes

we are now
mired in the image


Whit Howland © 2020

Large deer problem
In our little town
Thy dart out into traffic
And at times you can see
The fear in their eyes
They are eating human food
Left out by town-folk
It's getting so bad
The town decided they'd
Put up signs
They addressed the signage
To the deer warning them
Not to eat human food
Long story short
The deer are livid and have taken
To spraying the signs with graffiti