Sun's rays
pierce

the bronchial
latticework

of the bare trees
in late Fall

leaving me with
windless and limp sails

whit howland © 2021

a small thin piece
of fur

maybe bunched
but just enough

to say
you were there

stayed awhile
and then slinked

off into the day
the wind

jingling
your tiny bells

an almost inaudible
announcement

of your
departure

whit howland © 2021

A shiny ribbon
some glitter

paper folded
precisely

edges taped
concealment

mystery
suspense

the best gift
you ever gave us

was and always will be
each other

whit howland © 2021

I slept on the bed
of a poet, Gibran
and there fell a poem
into my head
like a song…

“One day you will ask me
which is more important?
My life or yours?
I will say mine
and you will walk away
not knowing
that you are my life.”

I slept on the bed
of a poet, Gibran
and my dreams were filled
in my heart was a song
a longing so sweet
a desire too strong
till the museum guard came
and moved me along

Marriage that has lost its laughter

becomes a withered flower

I tried to wake you up
You wouldn't stir
I thought you were sleeping
You weren't
You were playing dead
Messing with my head
Your sick game of pretend
So in my resentment
I pulled out a gun
I turned you into the real thing

how many times have I tried to text you “I love you”, just to erase it before pressing send? too many times to count.