Her hand closes over my wrist.
I ask her, What do you call this?
This, she says, is
Pressing the fountain down,
Pressing it down with my hand.
The water all spills
Right into my fingers
None of its force will be lost.
My heart beats a little bit faster.
My blood pounds a little bit more.
And what do you call
The fountain of fire?
What did I say to inspire?

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windandwater

February 2014

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