A marsh is a museum in that they are both anthromes, or anthropogenic biomes, to different degrees. Community ecologies live in both zones, they ride on the crests of waves, beating along with the rain, following the path of rivers. At intermittent grooves along the stream of life, they find respite, however briefly.
A museum is a marsh since they are both archives for atoms, each saturated with an entangled history, histories that overflow beyond our narrative containers. But these histories are never quite past, they persist quite well into the present, sometimes, on frequencies insensible, inscrutable.
A museum is a marsh where there are leaks beyond categorical boundaries, which provide a domesticized comfort to the untamed substratum of contaminated becomings, mutating shapes, unsettling motions. On the surface, these zones uphold the pristine order of colonial taxonomy, that pasts are relegated into the past, life evacuated from the mausolean museum; but as their custodians are well aware, the bleeds and flows are a continuous, albeit unspectacular rhythm.