03 Apr GREEN BOW, CLOUDS, A BITTERN
[quote]From scene to shining scene, tassel after tassel shiver and shift.[/quote]
You can swim
in the bough of this beginning–
(along the green bow without barnacles).
The mix of meadow grasses sway
like a smooth ocean swell.
Cattails and cord grass,
the uncontainable common reed surge together.
The collective scallop of cumulous clouds
are buoys on this horizon.
Nothing manmade clicks or taps
(as least as far as my ear can hear).
From sea to shining scene,
tassel after tassel shiver and shift.
A tug of teal epiphany,
is a bird winging over the water,
the wetland’s brackish placenta,
across this predilection towards perfection.
In early evenings, marsh rabbits soak
themselves in the moon’s steady tide–
lozenge of silver light faint
after the sun’s bold blaze.
It is pleasant and pheasant
moving along the fluid stretch of wilderness,
like the languid shift of the muscles in my hips.
An American bittern flies off
with my welcome in its beak.
A bird in flight is always an invitation up,
an airborne answer along the blue ledge of sky,
in the limpid rocking arms of all that is.
–Pamela Hughes
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