When I was angry, I went to the river -
New water on old stones, the patience of pools.
Let the will find its own pace
Said a voice inside me
I was learning to believe,
And the rest will take care of itself.
The fish were facing upstream, tiny trout
Suspended like souls, in their aqueous element.
I and my godlike shadow
Fell across them, and they disappeared.
All this happened deep in the mountains -
Anger, trout and shadow
With the river flowing through them.
Far away, invisible but imagined,
Was an ancient sea, where things would resolve themselves.
- Harry Clifton