There was the thick marshy water,
Sluggish and warm around the waist.
And the sweltering sun, growing ever hotter,
The tall green grass wilts in its wake.
Clammy and sticky with silt and sweat
That drags and sloughs off trodden shoes,
Inflated lungs filled with swollen regret,
Footfalls swallowed by the muddy blues.

And in that marsh there were secrets kept,
Struggles buried below ground,
The traveler cried to a river that slept,
Their laments struggled and drowned,
The water that forgave but would not forget
Listened closely to the wounded sound.