The great bay window grows gold with sunlight,
and hoarfrost hems the swan’s-neck of river.
The estuary inhales, exhales—a tidal diaphragm.
Two eelish geese on the skim of ice
eye the stubbled whorls of cordgrass, glassworts—
plants that flourish on the brackish mudflats.
Through the window, I could touch Neponest,
waters gold-edged through glass, the tough grasses,
the New England winter, bitterns, herons—
anything, out there, I could touch. Beyond the glass.
