Water Witching ~ Susan Elbe



Sand in the well. Windmill turning

a dry creak on its wheel.


The water witcher walks the length

and breadth of the yard,

loosely holding

his Wünschelrute,

palms up as if in prayer.


Wasser             Wasser



Between the barn and house, the stick

jerks down hard

and straight, the muscles in his arms

pulled tight by the tug of rivers underground.




The air blown so light, it can’t hold.

Something jar-eyed

and bloated winding up in the corn.


whing               whing               whing



Now that we hate the sun,

we’re learning to go


to plumb

longings we didn’t know

we had,


the shadow this land casts on us,

its thirst and swale.