Four Winter Haiku

What is this other

that whispers us

toward night, its falling?


Sometimes the gray of trees. 

Sometimes only water,

because it moves.


Would have found you

if I’d looked

—there are always more poems.


Imagine a winterway, distance—

slow roads that end,

undone, in shadow.


Steve Wilson is a poet and professor of English at Texas State University. His poems have been published in Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Poem, Georgetown Review and others.

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Published at 3:19 pm CST