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Streams

This leaky faucet
Reminds us of rationed futures
Teaching those who drink that it’s best to save
“Guard yourself,” it seems to say
For soon, very soon, none will be left to drink
But then, with unexpected abundance, it pours forth
Streams of thought point to the place where land and sky kiss
And I know now, half asleep, half drunk on the expanse before me
That hope is none more than a tease
Prodding eyes to follow its waters
To look at landscapes long alive
Verdant with need and opportunity
And I hope, really, for the first time
And find my world is bigger than ever before
These streams of ours point back
Not to me, but to those who still see
Just a leaky faucet
Reminding them of rationed futures
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