post 224: mist, marsh, white birds

by Carol Bass

new bug approaching

through early morning mist

before rains, predicted for days
way out in the marsh
five glowing ibises
probe the mud for fiddlers

they bring to mind
white sheets and pillowcases
forced off the clothes line
by gusts of wind

dipping down into dead grass
gliding along
through the fog

I smell the leftover sun in the white sheets
and imagine the Pakistani weavers, the ones that smile easily
joking, speaking about westerners

I wish we could meet
and discuss the ibises
how their beaks, like tools, explore the mud
like the weavers’ instruments explore the white threads