Cattail Journal 

"in a silky agitation,
    went leaping
        down into the shadows
             of the bog..."

– Mary Oliver, "The Pinewoods"






afternoon along the drive
    has lost its light
        by the arches of the tamarack
              that line the marsh

just as soon be a critter
   of the forest entering
        by four small legs and feet
             the wooden bridge

quiet, side to side, to peek
   at the footing of the black
      peat that looks like tar
          and carries closer to the shore

the great forests themselves
   of cattails and rushes;
       this time there is no need
            to stop

and stand against the wood
   rails of the lookout
      but must slink in among
           the stiff new stalks

yet unseen by the eyes of we two legs.
   where there is that moment
      that the dream of where the dirt
          goes to water

and off onto the silky stillness
  of the pond is nothing,
      fatefully, underneath
          or above