Poetry About Marshes

In cordgrass bending above dark water, marshes finds a visible shape. Herons lifting from the shallows carries what ordinary speech leaves unfinished. Between mud holding a lattice of tracks and insects bright over the reeds, the heart learns to listen. Wet ground protects more life than its quiet surface reveals, though the day rarely says so aloud. By night, tide returning through hidden channels becomes a promise rather than an ending.

Herons lifting from the shallows enters the poem first. Marshes follows, neither symbol nor explanation, but weather. Insects bright over the reeds keeps the difficult measure. We stand near cordgrass bending above dark water and let certainty loosen. Wet ground protects more life than its quiet surface reveals. Tide returning through hidden channels remains after the room grows quiet.

Someone remembers mud holding a lattice of tracks. Someone else names cordgrass bending above dark water and means an entire life. Marshes moves between them with patient hands. Herons lifting from the shallows refuses to become only background. Wet ground protects more life than its quiet surface reveals. At last, tide returning through hidden channels gives the silence somewhere to rest.