The River Grace

Dehydrated, distressed,

I scratched at square inches

Of dry, cracked ground,

Lodging ungodly grains

Under my dead fingernails.

Help gushed out of a Rock—

Overflowing, its nature;

Grace, its sweet flavor.

The enemy had me convinced

It was full of lead and mercury.

Then, truth turned my head around
To learn of The River Grace.

I awoke, waded in its tributaries,

And cupped it up in handfuls

To my once cotton mouth.

Now alive, I want to build a life

Around building better reservoirs—

Be they canals to criminals,

Pipelines to the poor,

Or tankers to the down-trodden.

As an eyewitnesses to this excess

May I not be content to collect;

Give me gifts in hydraulics—

To daily drink from this River Grace,

Then to manage the overflow.