With love I strike This honey from the rock, Split
the fine-textured Granite like a peach And see the liberated spring divide The severed crystal and its matching side.
Prospectors on this dry plateau Have sunk their drills to tap the flow Of hidden rivers, boring their way, Through limestone like worms in wood: All three progressing by the same technique, The probing tongue that nags away the Water surrenders grudgingly fabric. , No hazel plays Judas in this country; Digging or the steel-tipped nibble Of the drill earn only dregs In a flint basin, enough to wet The lips and keep alive the appetite.
But not to quench the final thirst. For that, the sealing rock must • Guide the true diviner to its face And break like a peach, the ripe fruit Of his choice, drenching his dusty mouth And rescuing the land from drought.
PHILIP OAKES
Previous page
