Haiku

Morning, and I sip
from my cup, wishing you'd taste
the tea on my tongue.

Wishing on stars as
they burn to dust--how much fuel
does a hope require?

Winter hearts freeze in
January's heavy air,
catching at my throat.

Exam time: students
lean and write, as I sit and
ponder my own tests.

I shake my pen--out
of ink and out of time, with
much more left to say.