A drowned kingdom rises at daybreak
& we keep trudging on. A silhouette rides
the rope swing tied to a spruce limb,
the loudest calm in the marsh. Look
at the sinkholes, the sloped brokenness,
a twinned rainbow straddling the rocks.
We can see how brave nature is.
She drags us through teeming reeds
& turns day inside out, getting up
under blame, gazing at the horizon
as a throaty sparrow calls a raft home.
A wavering landscape is our one foothold.
Are we still moving? This is an old story
behind stories, an epic season where
a tangle of roses is moved by night soil.
The boar, Congo snake, & earthworm
eat into pigweed. The middle ground
is a flotilla of stars, a peacock carousel
& Ferris wheel spinning in the water
as vines unstitch the leach-work of salt,
thick mud sewn up like bodies fallen
into a ditch, blooming, about to erupt.
Water lily & spider fern. I see the tip
of a purple mountain, but sweetheart,
if it weren’t for your late April kisses
I would’ve turned around days ago.