proves there is water, somewhere,
even if it's out of reach and we're
surrounded by hot seas of shifting sands.
The hope of water cannot moisten
cracked and swollen lips or quench
the aching need and longing for its
sustenance, the miracle of liquid
nourishment our very cells and skin
and stomach cry for, cry for loudly.
But just knowing that provision has
been made, if only we can find it,
a supply for all demands, regardless
if it's unattainable this very second,
is a respite in itself. There's something
to that knowledge, the assurance that today,
a spring might open up before our very eyes,
a meteor could fall from heaven, split a rock
nearby and from it flow cool waters of relief.
We've heard that it has happened.
The report was from a trusted source.
Who says a cloud will never burst
above us, blessed torrent falling down
upon us as we stand receiving,
open-mouthed and laughing in the rain?
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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