haiku, after her: fourteen

so this is goodbye
and for the very last time
I say ‘I love you’

haiku, after her: thirteen

and so I wonder,
will she smile when she reads these
in the years to come?

haiku, after her: twelve

losing her today
sparks off dozens of haiku.
the muse’s last dance.

haiku, after her: eleven

collecting my things
filling her house with tears.
me. evaporating.

haiku, after her: ten

in a box somewhere
there is the ring I gave her.
wedding in Stockholm.

haiku, after her: nine

I have been talking
to her, in my head, for years.
now, I guess – silence.

haiku, after her: eight

a thought comes to mind.
looking back fifty years on
a tear? or a smile?

haiku, after her: seven

this thing could have worked.
it could have been forever.
blame chronology.

haiku, after her: six

I reach for the phone,
there is news to tell her.
then, I remember.

haiku, after her: five

after all of this
a boxful of memories
is all that remains

haiku, after her: four

the morning after.
the silence is deafening
and is here to stay.

haiku, after her: three

a glance at the phone
there will be no messages
ending with an ‘X’

haiku, after her: two

(her final email)

sent the night before,
arrives the morning after.
for a second – hope.

haiku, after her: one

(the last time I saw her)

a kiss at the door
sleepy from the night before.
we are just shadows.