Cypress Trees 1980 by Don Wright


Old draperies of Spanish moss hang

                                                      on trees whose trunks

flare so they might stand

                                   solid in a soil whose watery grip cannot hold.

In this wetland where a blackwater river oozes

                                                      slowly down to the gulf entering as a stain

that seems to tarnish and discolor but

                                              offers nutrients to the sea, the air is still

and has the scent of damp abandoned barns. 

What if an osprey flew in and landed

                                                       in the branches, would its cry be

for the loss of a vast tupelo-cypress swamp

                                     logged, channelized and spoiled.