In Passing by Dan Murphy

Who are we when we walk
Amongst the bitterns?

Our rubber boots sloshing like horse hooves
In the reedy mud. Twirling perfumes, organic’s

Seductive concoctions
Of Bulrush root and reed grass.

A bittern’s calling haunting
The shadows that we are

To them. In a bittern’s world,
Through sunlit veils of mist

We are as a passing cloud would be.
A skulled shadow moving near the water

Disturbing nothing more
But the sunlit crests of pond ripples; for that moment.