" The Dowser of Himmel "
Some speak in tongues. My willow
wags like a blind man’s cane. I am
strange sighted but not indifferent
to miracles.
Droughts, prophet-seers of doom,
do nothing but entice me to do
my best work. I am engaged in feeling
the vibrations. Just as old Crowley’s knee
aches when a storm approaches,
my storm surges upward and through the earth.
For a brief time,
I squandered my gift for love.
My heart beat so rapidly, I put down
my branch. Water was not my first thought
upon rising.
The day I discovered melancholy,
I was alone in my father’s orchards.
I am instinctive, not smart, and despite
good advice—I believed her.
The blossoms came down all at once.
A fury of apple flowers, a cold blizzard
would have stung my face, but these
were petals.
She left me standing there.
I had been unwilling to locate
fresh springs for a few of her kisses.
I gave myself back to this life.
which is more than chance,
because just as those petals swirled and fell
everything in nature is deliberate.
I embraced my true occupation.
This welling up of water.
© 2003 Lauriette (Laurie Byro)
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