We came upon them in bright cold.  
Scavengers of our afternoon,
They were about translating marsh into rose.

The wind tried to keep us from the observation tower,
  pushing its breath against our coats; 
  the sun pushed its barbs into our faces;
But wind and sun
  could not keep us from knowing
  their roseate, lethargic stretching
  their casual flapping in the unwarm sun.

Later, from the car, half afterthought, half reward,
  we saw two more 
  working the inch-deep roadside ditch.
  Their color was soiled, more credible.
  They seemed themselves
  They seemed ourselves.

Praise to these bottom-feeders,
  capable of transmuting 
  mud into rose;
  humble creatures
  driven by hunger,
  hunting in the afternoon.


James Bolner, Sr.
Baton Rouge, LA
January, 1994