December rain; a writer’s block

Each black drop drills the snow
and I remember alligators roaming Saskatchewan
just before the last ice age.
Each step becomes difficult
and water filters through bright red wool
and into my eyes.

I want to be in love with words again
and tap the water table
I can only imagine
deep under this new slush.

Cold wind pushes through my coat
and forces frigid water through my skin.
I shiver and dream so fast
the misspellings pulse like blood
overflowing with ideas
and the uncomfortable excitement
permeating below the surface.