My wife Joan has been handling the gradual decline of her life with astonishing composure. But occasionally, the veneer cracks, and I realize how fragile she is, physically and emotionally. I try to imagine myself into her experience, and can’t – inevitably, I drift off into my story, not hers.

            So as once before, I’ve chosen the ruthless structure of classical haiku – three lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables – to enforce some discipline on my monkey mind.  Each verse stands alone; they’re not a series. 

Walking on water

ice fractures under my feet

fall into nothing

fear constricts my heart

yawning nowhere opens ahead

I squat down and howl

black velvet silence

smothers sounds like shovelled earth

ears ache from listening

snow falls on bare boughs

outlines limbs of family tree

when do branches break?

I know it’s coming

don’t know what or how or when

will I know it then?

eyeless stone faces

watch the ocean roll away

ah, to  stand with them