The Everglades
By Madelyn Lipszyc
Sludge, mud, trifling through the trenches
dark foggy sticky cool night
a low pulsing spine burrows along the water top.
Trees whistle through their long thin leaves
they make believe they're somewhere else
someone else. In a land so long gone
and far away a meditation for the outdated
serrated and dancing with oblivion.
Shadows become enemies
where the underground feels like it can reach the sea
buried and diving deeper
you can hear the hideous screams of these dreamers.