The Marsh



Faint details of dreams

appear years later,

reaching into daylight.


Blue-flag irises.


Red-winged blackbirds

descend on the marsh,

shouldering wildfire tattoos.


Yellow-brown bulrush.


Catch and release. Words

no words. Listen long enough

you will disappear.


Green, feathering pine.


Rising from tangled

alder, birch look like deer drawn

at the river’s edge.


Black mud. Stems reaching.


Wingtip to fingertip.

Bloodroot and worm; all equal

to the insatiable mind.




10 thoughts on “The Marsh

  1. When I come here to your words, I love how you immerse me in the world around you. You do it quietly, peacefully and you make look at the world around me.

  2. I stopped after the first three lines to read and reread them again. You caught a sense I sometimes have that I’ve seen or done something before or dreamed it. The rest of the poem was equally thought-provoking. Thank you.

    • These three lines were the poem’s entry point and hinge. For the past year or so, vivid, seemingly irrelevant fragments of old dreams have entered my mind in the same manner that childhood memories do. They sit comfortably among waking-hour memories. It’s a strange sensation that always brings me to the edge of something. I try not to linger or over think, but do appreciate the moments. Thanks very much for your comment.

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