Haiku: don't!

The ache hasn't you unless you let it have you: hungry, thirsty -- don't!

Haiku: feel no wait

The fuel disappeared on the long highway driving -- bird's flight, feel no wait.

Haiku: What of art?

What of this art now -- as the pleading rains fall down and sinks with the seas.

Haiku: You brush fire.

Sometimes, you brush fire
over her ear, her red hair
sparks from hand to heart.

Stop in Fredericksburg.

The skin was past the covers, 
and there was a crisp with 
the sweet and savory. 
I dug right in, first with eyes as 
well placed proportions, 
on and by tables, peaked 
my appetite aplenty. 

They watch falling flakes.

My beard is full -- the flakes are falling 
and will not melt in this weather. 
Along street routes -- I walk without walkways, 
hearing a buzzing in my ears as the blizzard 
falls on my dark shoulders. 
The cars skirt by me, quite close --
I could touch their tires if not for speed -- 
they move past me like ice in a river-thaw, 
their stare can freeze those that care, 
though it stopped freezing me long ago 
as I shake out my beard, again. 

The fire set.

I've heard the crackle and snap 
under the kettle, the fire set 
by dried twigs and small branches, 
logs layed under tarps to slowly dry -- 
new wood is too moist and green 
to take up the easy blaze: 
to burn like the old, seasoned pine.