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The sun & why lilies are at peace
in its passing.
The sea & where it keeps
all of the fallen stars.
The trees & the names
we named them with
for our children to call them by.
Questions like,
would it lead me to a *** of golds, or
would I stand before fields of forsythias
on the chance that I'd follow
where this rainbow ends.
The moths & what draws them into
the flame of the wavering candlelight
as we read verses in fluttering pages
of books we will close for a long while.
The ones we leave behind
for the ones who would also soon go
without us.
The stones by the flower beds
we mark with sorrow & love.
Their names we will hum like aubades
for skylarks to warble on glades
even doves can never reach.
What for do all these we bound ourselves with
in the transcendent wake of time
tell us of the meaning
of life?
at this rate we die
beheaded by the second hand
nervous tick of hours
The cool aquamarine water
ripples

as it kisses the skin
and we move like fish

fumbling

in self-induced darkness
to the cadence

Marco
Polo

accidents
collisions

as well as serendipitous
discovery

whit howland © 2021
An impressionistic word painting.
reminiscing you—

back to the dawn when you unclothed all of the petals

so you can see what kind of love
he's made of & if he can
make the same love with you;

he would want to feel anytime again every touch
that scorched his skin that gave him
the wintry chill of fire

when you breathed him in it felt like an undaunted caress
of sea breeze to his soul & he carelessly
opened to your stranglehold
unafraid to die but also unafraid
that it was how it feels to be alive

like a sea on full tide
you love to drown whatever is on your hands;

wildflowers blossomed in the silent breaking of dawn
when he surrendered to you
by the rural seaside where
you plucked him

into stenchless strips that you laid on his palms when you were ready to leave with feelings he can't keep
& give,

strips you can never put back
once you unclothe a flower
of everything;

𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕, you asked him with a gaze that

would make him want to be with you
but wildflowers don't belong to the sea

𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘, you held his hand

& he's suddenly desperate to fall in love
that before you could ask, he lets you go;

this time by the seaside, it's sunny without you; with eyes closed
he stares into the blue
wondering where would he be now

—if he hadn't said no.
when a one-night stand finally happens between two people who are more than just friends but less than being lovers
#bl
𝚊  𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚊
𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚜  𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢  𝚒𝚗  𝚊  𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢
𝚘𝚏  𝚜𝚔𝚢𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚕
A 𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒂 is a flower I really am fond with because of its delicate paperlike petals; in the rural downtown where I used to live, these are common flowers that come in a variety of colors. But here in the city it mostly grows as a flower-tree. The one I saw the day I made this haiku was that with pink blossoms, by the sidewalk & near the pedestrian lane. As I was waiting for the green light, I remembered there were just buds the last time I glimpsed on it but most of those buds have blossomed into pink bells around that time already. And in the backdrop were the city skyscrapers. It just struck to me how such imagery can be so poetic too. Thinking of a very delicate-looking flower to open not to a rural meadow, or the seaside, but instead in a bustling city where indifference is an element of survival to a life that's as hard as steel.

Haiku1[290121]
the midnight wind howls

a petal is plucked
from the lotus' heart

it drifts away

the reflection of the moon
snow-white
on the frozen pond—

illuminates
the lotus beneath the ice

it's stonecold lonely
when you're only a touch away
but we're forever apart

when there's no ripple anymore
but blossoming thorns of ice;

as the midnight wind lulls

the last shred of hope fluttered
from the frozen, sullen heart

it withers away

across the sky-deep, empty hollow
to the infinite darkness beneath

scentless

& snow-white
I hope I have sufficiently portrayed the imagery I wanted to express here.
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