Sunday, February 20, 2011

brush fire

while the brush
fire rages
in the wind,
carrying flames
in red licks
onto the soft
dry trees pre
spring, i
sit here in
traffic, as it
crawls north to
where it snows,
to where there
is no fire,
but where you
await, hoping
with your own
soft limbs
to cause one.

1 comment:

lgsbowen said...

Beautifully different romantic poem. I like it a lot.