#1654 (#317)

half-finished haiku

litter the digital space

waiting for their end

#1653 (#316)

in the swimming hall

alone once more means i can

both read and write this

#1652 (#314)

bench in a puddle

stranded in a wide expanse

its seat not kept warm

#1651 (#313)

solitude come here

i adore and i abhor

solitude leave now

#1650 (#312)

faraway village

delicately mist shrouded

waiting for my voice

---

I wrote this but I do not understand it.  Where is the faraway village and why is it waiting for my voice?  I do not remember.

#1649 (#311)

a hand once unheld

a walk commute once lonely

his gentleman back

#1648 (#310)

wet stairs afterwards

all the blood washed clean away

the nightmare over?

---

Somewhere I saw someone washing stairs and I was reminded of a survivor of the Bethnal Green Tube Disaster who, having slept in the station overnight after escaping the crush, noticed upon leaving how the stairs had been washed of blood by the time they left the next morning.