At the edge of the marsh, houses gather,

form clusters, strange tangled folds

turn upon each other at the boundaries,

subdivisions congested as the interior of a cell, compressed by a force almost visible,

so apparent are the marks it leaves behind.

 

Within the marsh, geese find refuge,

launch skyward summoning honks

to gather the last of the flock for night,

settle into the reeds, pairs close,

safe in the open from deadly approach

the bay a distant, welcome gleam.

​

The Marsh

© Pepper Trail