This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
The Water-diviner
His fingers tell water like prayer.
He hears its voice in the silence
through fifty feet of rock
on an afternoon still with drought.
Under an old tin bath, a stone,
an upturned can, his copper pipe
glints with discovery. We dip our hose
deep into the dark, sucking its dryness,
...
He hears its voice in the silence
through fifty feet of rock
on an afternoon still with drought.
Under an old tin bath, a stone,
an upturned can, his copper pipe
glints with discovery. We dip our hose
deep into the dark, sucking its dryness,
...
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