The seven streams

Come down drenched, at the end of May,

with the cold rain so far into your bones

that nothing will warm you

except your own walking

and let the sun come out at the day’s end

by Slievenaglasha with the rainbows doubling

over Mulloch Mor and see your clothes

steaming in the bright air. 

Be a provenanceof something gathered, a summation of

previous intuitions, let your vulnerabilities

walking on the cracked sliding limestone

be this time, not a weakness, but a faculty

for understanding what’s about

to happen. Stand aboave the Seven Streams

letting the deep down current surface

around you, then branch and branch

as they do, back into the mountain

and as if you were able for that flow,

say the few necessary wordsand walk on, broader and cleansed

for having imagined.


- David Whyte


From RIVER FLOW: New and Selected Poems

© David Whyte and Many Rivers Press 

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