Love Letter to a Schwingmoor

by theoystermangrove

Would I but compare you
to a schwingmoor
a tangled mish mash
of thickly woven moss
rushes, shrubs
and cloven
tamarack branches.

Wisconsin forests cast
you into the same categorical
lot as their slow decomposition
into peat, allocated you a home
in muddy waters to please your way.

You make my trees sway
and mislead the botanist’s
heavy foot—a jest—to stall
his search of arethusa.

This time I guard
the heart:
Do not chase
after illusions
or the quaking
bog.

Best to be found
than lost, forever
to an ibid desire
for the elusive
dragon’s mouth.

Dana Livermore January, 2012

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