More Precious Water
Spiritual awareness comes like morning rain;
as fine chilling mist or driving deluge,
boring drizzle or giant drops that float down
to parched sand or overflowing puddles.
All of these we can scarcely absorb,
but must silently wait until the drops
filter through ages of memoried dust
to a hidden pool of creative spring.
Only then, when purified and caressed,
can it well up to quench my soul’s thirst.