In a store window
I’m a form drifting amid
traffic, not—as in
photographs—younger,
but older, my future ghost.
I look for angles,
anticipating
my face averting its eyes
or steering itself
into a place where
the world flattens to one pane
and the soul swims
in its layer, transparent,
now finished with time.
Filed under: Angels, Chicago, Death, Haiku, Haiku Sonnets, Human Nature, Identity, Knowledge, Life, Mortality, Musings, Poetry, Sonnets, Thoughts, Urban Life, Writing
[...] can’t decide whether to write a haiku sonnet or a non-fiction novel. Maybe I’ll write my own [...]
A funny post. If I could do any of the things you mention, I’d certainly not be writing haiku sonnets! —D
Read my post and comments on Beautiful People today if you get a chance. I know you are busy, but it connects to this lovely Haiku.
I see the connection. I love the description in TJ Maxx. It’s not so much fun to get older, but you’re right that we are what we are…when we are. —D