In another life

perhaps I was a field mouse

hiding from a hawk.

In another life

perhaps I was the great fish

that swallowed Jonah.

Deepening autumn—

my old grey tabby’s ninth life

withers like a leaf.

Short

my life is this short—

a single line of haiku

cut off from the rest

Three

In only three words,

tell me why this mosquito

deserves a long life.

a silver whistle—

the weight of it in my hand

greater than my life

trying to picture

a life without delusions—

thirty years to go

the days of her life—

surely someone would notice

if they were missing

in a blank notebook

writing the tale of her life

with vanishing ink

The story can change—

not every word’s been written

in the book of life.