Not Phoenix

This is not Phoenix, 
though birds are born again 
from the mysterious marsh
and recycling is in evidence

There is heat too,
feet on burned ground,
suspicious vehicles surrounding
the hidden broad
and desert
out beyond the Yare:
ruins of old civilisations,
sails and wheels

A marsh harrier
disguised as a tree branch
Is resurrected: its awesome beauty
freed to fly

while the heron walks
disdainfully round the edges
and chess players hide
among the late summer reeds

waiting for the right time
to make a move
looking for a train
or a butterfly