Published
Often, it flows
Through my fingertips
Like water over a ledge,
Spilling, abundant, and free.
But there’s always winter
Somewhere, waiting,
Setting storms to stack snowbanks
Till the sun sends it streaming again.
All I ask is not to need a heat lamp
To melt enough water
To turn the turbines
To power the heat lamp.
You never want to be thirsty
During winter,
Surrounded by water
That’s stuck in a block of ice.
—Connor