(across the mire)

Out the orifice it spews
  Chunky 
    Full of the undigested
 The putrid odor 
It brings forth
Envy for the dead
Waiting for a golden sleep

There is nothing left
  But to eschew 
these mechanisms 
  these repulsions
and embrace the tide of time

Engaged in listening to
  the wonderful majesty 
of the bog
  as it digests this refuse
slowly 
  not quite timeless 
on the other side of the marsh
  It sings to us
the rich multivalent harmony
of a transformed life

There is no ticking clock
Just the slow seasonal changes
   That are renewed in cycles
 of death and life 
again and again

January 21, 2025 SGL Brunswick, ME