Wandering through a barren decade, thirsty the entire time,
I didn’t realize sweetwater springs were there running,
subcutaneous and dormant, beneath the skin of my mind.

Foolishly I thought water was a surface thing, available to all,
when rather it is divined by those tuned to a finer frequency;
it must be mined beneath the seen geography.

Another eye I need, a keener vision to discern in the sand
a sea underground, and all the promised land
(from ancient of days) you have wanted me to find.


View the painting inspired by the poem.

July 20, 2018 — Alexandra Hunter
Tags: poetry