After he has given me grief
that ran rampant, ran a rage
I need mending, borrowing something
something muted, something to settle blame on.
I'll go to the lake,
listen to the strong wind,
and the wind-chime of tethered boats,
beyond their iron chains the dark water lapping '
without warning
calm descends upon me, like
the dusk that is falling
the way
it slows the thoughts down '
measures words hinged ' the way
sleeping water birds, in their soundless
expression, sit immobile, as though rooted
each to its own place '
and I enter into the world of water
whose rhythms cannot be hurried
into whose alliance
under the ancient composure of stars
I step slowly, start floating.
