Cast a new dim light everywhere

every
so often
a sequestered
hideaway
is
the best
place
to soothe me

solitariness
is
totally
free from turbulence

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

Flowers
the purple ones
impatients

they didn't make it
the rain and all the watering
couldn't save them

this summer you
went away then returned
and I thought you were back

but then you left again

the flowers
the purple ones
impatients

all the rain
and all the watering
couldn't save them

whit howland © 2021