Who are we when we walk
Amongst the bitterns?
Our rubber boots sloshing like horse hooves
In the reedy mud. Twirling perfumes, organic’s
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.