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They called him the dosser.
A blessed man with a crooked, 
bent and wobbly wishbone of wire,
held tight in clenched fist. 
He fossicks spellbound 
for water hiding deep below
in the groundwater.

His fingers compel the water 
sleeping fifty feet down
to hear his call, 
and echo a reply forthwith,
with a signal on the wire tap.
On some hot dry afternoon, 
dumb with drought.

If he lets you watch him, 
you'll see the wire tremble 
ever so slightly,
and swing to one side.
Often he'll backtrack, 
reset the grip,
cover the same ground,
to see if the quiver,
and swing repeats.
Then, 'X' marks the spot 
for the farmer to dig.

The water diviner knows not why 
he has this insight to feel
the presence of water beneath his feet.
It was pure happenstance that
he learned he had the gift when 
a true believer gave him a try.

Perchance, you too 
may have the diviner's gift.
To conger the wellsprings 
of water deep within.
To reveal its 
secret whereabouts, 
with a wiggle of wire, 
held tight in a believer's fist.

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