Walking into the Everglades in May, the speaker finds a place that has been emptied out. The poem begins with what is missing: the egret, the cormorant, the stork, each pictured so vividly that their absence is felt all the more. Then comes the blunt line, "Silence is absolute."
What remains is harsh and unlovely. The mangroves look tired and dusty, the pools smell rotten, and mosquitoes are waking up in air that is already heavy with heat. The speaker seems uneasy rather than angry, watching a landscape turn oppressive.
The last stanza shifts to the one sign of life, an alligator's tracks. Comparing them to a dinosaur's trail makes the place feel ancient and a little menacing. The final image, "the handwriting of the blind," is striking: the marks are wandering and unreadable, as if something is written on the mud that no one can quite understand. The mood is quiet, hot, and slightly eerie.