Under the Sawgrass Marsh

Travelling west on Alligator Alley

under a three-quarter moon

I roll to a quiet stop on the fringe

of cement

to witness her undulations

Wet and slow-moving she nourishes

the cypress and sawgrass marsh

as she licks their roots

with fresh-water languor

Hammocks shelter the bottle-green fern

while a salt-laden breeze carries

a silent hum¾listen¾

the land here has its own alive sound

from quiet inland scrub to

laughing shivering palms¾

Mother offers her warm water embrace

This watershed, this great benign liquid

is my promised salvation

her rifted soil my eternal bed

at the end of the known earth