II: The Marsh in Autumn

II: The Marsh in Autumn

As I walk through the bulwark of bulrushes
the mouth of the marsh begins
to pontificate to a receptive audience –

the marsh speaks to me with poetry now
whispers verses through the majestic droop
of an elder willow’s ancient, weeping boughs.

This widow willow mourns, reaching towards the earth
as if it has given up on life above ground, and wishes only
to be reabsorbed or perhaps, in lyrical resilience
these downed branches have drooped in the hope
that it will grow roots, and start a new life again.

I am awed by this tree, and its dance in the cold autumn mud
here at the marsh’s edge, each branch a line of a stanza – this tree
is constructed with it’s own rhyme and rhythm, a free-verse
free-styling creation that bends without breaking
a living metaphor, a poem in the making.

From "If We Were All Rivers" by Andrea Thompson
Commissioned by Urbanvessel for riverMOUTH