Seven haikus I wrote to you in the month of November.
Obviously, they never got to you.
The leaves are turning
Red and golden. I pick them
To give you my fall.
I forget exact
Dimensions of your body
Curled up against mine.
I can no longer
Finish your sentences. We
Have drifted too far.
I can’t bear the night.
How the smiling moon reminds
Me much of your laugh.
Should I have written
You sonnets instead of these
Silly, fool’s haikus?
How do we begin
To forgive ourselves for all
That we did not say?
I have started to
Take down from the walls all of
My pictures of you.
To & From the Void 