Manasquan Back Thru' The Marshland


You paddled back thru'
All the Salt Marshes, brackish
And clinging
Vegetation all the Little
Rivers heeding towards the
Fertile Places of cattail
And bulrush. You sounded out
All the Old Indian
Names whispering:

"It is always a cardinal
when it flies---"

And the
Hidden waterways as stagnant
As thickness upon you
Hands your face
The perfume of salt and all that of
Wind veiled
Between. You
Paddled back
Behind the cover
Of ocean-sweat, the corporeal
Loveliness stillheat upon
The Lost
Rivers all the Indian names
And the distance of
Native
Towns.