This seep of droplets sponged by moss leaked
from a cleft in the rock; the waters in the cleft
rose osmotically from earth:
the aquifers of earth rained down
from cloudburst skies;
the waters from above were sucked up
from the seas; the seas were filled
to overflow by rivers of the land;
the rivers fed forever by congeries of springs.
These cycles are life flowing,
no dim and dry surmise.
The spirit too has cycles that begin with honest thirst.
Thirst is not a verdict but clear evidence of need.
Need is inner emptiness that primes the pump
to pump. Faith is not conjecture, but knowing
water flows. However parched the season
or the heart, unseen chambers filling
drop by drop.
Richard Schiffman is an environmental journalist and poet. His collection of poems, What the Dust Doesn't Know, is forthcoming from Salmon Press.
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