“Water Master,” Ensign, Mar. 1984, 54
He groans at the headgate,
His hands wrenched by the weight
Of the board, alone
On the hill.
All earth thirsts for his lifting,
Cracked in the sorrow of sun,
Blistered by arid winds drifting
Dust fields to oblivion.
Trembling to open the sluice
He leans over the world to unloose
An outpouring that purls
Over parched ground where he moves
To let the floodgate water in:
Earth breathes to the current