A Walk in the Wetlands
Thousands of water creatures hum through the pools.
Transient jays shriek at your shadow.
We pass quietly
under the sacred antiquity of the cottonwoods;
for this is where we go to hide,
a journey
over logs and millenniums of moss
to find what lies at the bottom of this wetland.
Here nature appears haphazard,
incidental as the water snake that blocks our path.
Wading through growth and decay
we feel blind to how things connect;
and we will always be interlopers to the frogs.
They scatter into the wet foliage, and, like us,
conceal themselves in sublime associations
with the leaves.
Bubbles of gas rise through splotches of algae,
nature's dark counterpoint
to the turbulent plumage of the oriole
and the swift iron-slick of the otter.
We move slowly into the coming night.
Small fish dart into hiding places
within the stagnant water.
The placid blossoms of the water lilies
are luminous at dusk,
like lamps on the water.
(from High Country Solitudes, 1997)
