A Secret Place

The cactus hides its spring within.
You, my friend, have learned to hold your water well.

I know a dry land where seven waters fall.
Three hundred and sixty three fish-faced children,

all wet squeals and goosed by grace,
wait for us to come dance in place with them.

Drop everything. Find the map enclosed.
Meet me tomorrow morning under the wimpling falls.

I turn green. You turn from blue. Once wet
the world never dries off. The soaked man wakes,

shivers, catches cold. What drowned now drinks.
The belly remembers laughter. You taste the salt of tears.

--Dan Miller

This poem was awarded honorable mention in the 2006-2007 Presence poetry contest. (Presence is the journal of Spiritual Directors International.)