Rebuked, she turned and ran <br />uphill to the barn. Anger, the inner <br />arsonist, held a match to her brain. <br />She observed her life: against her will <br />it survived the unwavering flame. <br /> <br /> <br />The barn was empty of animals. <br />Only a swallow tilted <br />near the beams, and bats <br />hung from the rafters <br />the roof sagged between. <br /> <br /> <br />Her breath became steady <br />where, years past, the farmer cooled <br />the big tin amphoræ of milk. <br />The stone trough was still <br />filled with water: she watched it <br />and received its calm. <br /> <br /> <br />So it is when we retreat in anger: <br />we think we burn alone <br />and there is no balm. <br />Then water enters, though it makes <br />no sound.<br /><br />Jane Kenyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/portrait-of-a-figure-near-water/
