By Roberta Dorr
Sand is the water of the desert.
It can bear the traveler on its billows,
Or wash her cups
And clean her hands.
But when her body’s
Racked with thirst
No counterfeit will serve,
And one would trade
One’s kingdom in the sand
For one clear cup
Of sparkling, liquid water.
One faith is quite as good
As any other
Until the heart in thirst
Cries out for what is true.
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