Four Winter Haiku

What is this other

that whispers us

toward night, its falling?

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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