Bayou Afternoon — by Amy Clampitt

Out of the imprecise, the muck
of bright and dark, the wavering
at the bayou's edge, such

specificity: the egret's samite,
filamented, barbed and folded,
hourly preened and realigned,

just so: the unmistakably,
topheavily crested and cravatted
kingfisher: just so, the wading

ungainly fantasy, paintbox–
tinged pink and green, that's
called the spoonbill, back from

a rim known as extinction: just
so, that afternoon, the colonies,
along the streambank, of lilies,

each perishable hieroglyph
filamented, in a flourish, with
a stroke of purple. Meanwhile,

out on the Gulf, the airs and
vapors had grown monumental,
their huge purple a flickering

testament to, at the rim we
necessarily inhabit, a happenstance
still brimming, still uncodified.