When it rains all night in Foggy Bottom
you can smell the swamp beneath us -
the old rotted tree roots, the tadpoles,
the water moccasins skimming -
The swamp is only ever ten feet away –
and all that separates us is asphalt,
and gas and water pipes,
and underground telephone lines.
It’s pitch black down there –
dark from lack of light,
black as a night without stars –
even the water is black.
The level of the swamp rises
as our own level imperceptibly falls,
both at an accelerating rate –
soon we will be together.