Nearly midnight: it’s too late to squeeze out any punditry,
but there’s no reason not to savor some of Gary Hotham’s
breathmarks: haiku to read in the dark before bedtime:
night snow–
the house
creaks
my move
their move
morning clouds
deserted tennis court
wind through the net
loud wind
the bed unmade
all day
snow falls
from a low gray sky –
she lifts the sauce pan lid
[Dec. 3, 2004]
November 26, 2005
a little hotham on a cold night
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