Callan 
Where did the river go?
No thought of maps.
I saw myself astray,
following the banks and eddies
beyond the weir and into depths
among cow-parsley and couch grass,
meadowsweet and marsh marigold,
puddling on past hoof-printed cattle paths
round every corner out of sight,
winding to the horizon,
the water moving beside me,
muscular and opaque,
shouldering its mirror of sky-shadows,
and alders dipping tenderly
like long hair washed
in the big sink
on Saturday nights.

Where did the river go?
No thought of maps.
I saw myself astray,
following the banks and eddies
beyond the weir and into depths
among cow-parsley and couch grass,
meadowsweet and marsh marigold,
puddling on past hoof-printed cattle paths
round every corner out of sight,
winding to the horizon,
the water moving beside me,
muscular and opaque,
shouldering its mirror of sky-shadows,
and alders dipping tenderly
like long hair washed
in the big sink
on Saturday nights.