The estuary is slide and suspension, a prism
—-of rhythms. It has a tidal chorus, high crested
in a freshet, hushed at the ebb, like in a Greek play.
Impossible to limn, almost, says an artist I know—
it’s made of remnant floods and inflow, flux, plus
—mudflat habitat and beds of silt, whose sheets go
twisted, shorn, remade. Epibenthic green algae
—like it there, or depending, starry flounders, anchovies,
even the longfin smelt. A form of expansion, like
—an epic for a poet—the Hudson’s is 300 quixotic miles—
or a fleet, deep eddy Dickinson might have turned.
—Sweetgrass, sedge weave a marsh around it, as kestrel,
curlew, vagrant shrew carry its evanescent route to light:
—no two ever alike, ephemeral as phosphorescence at night.
by Mary Pinard
Published by Salmon in 2014
Copyright © Mary Pinard, 2014
MORE ABOUT MARY PINARD
MARY PINARD teaches poetry and literature at Babson College in Wellesley, MA. Her poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Iowa Review, Georgia Review, Boston Review, and Salamander, among others. She has published essays on poets Lorine Niedecker and Alice Oswald. She was born and raised in Seattle.
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