Swamps are my latest passion.
Look through the bayou
to see tendrils
Hanging down
gnarly plants reaching up
knotted fingers grappling with your shoe lace
schlepping to find
your foot is
no longer attached to your shoe
which is
sloww-ily disappearing into the muck
swamps have purpose & nothing stops or stomps
The Process
Bile
regurgitated into new clean water
Eventually
Waves of heat
water in the air creating golden mirages
Ghosts of what once was
plants breathing it in
moving with deliberation
an agenda only the swamp knows
March 2011