I

In the wood I hear the beautiful
call of bird I do not know     I wish
I knew the names of birds
and could identify them by their songs

It would be so much nicer to say
I heard the warble of a wood pigeon
as the red floor of the woodland
stretched before me like an avenue
through the high rises of beeches and oaks

as I walk on the path and feel the soft cushion
feel my foot press down into the flesh of the duff

because
a name is
reassurance
a comfort in the flesh
to hold

these songs in the trees
so something could be mine

warble trill bell fluting?
something nearly right

II

The urge I feel is
to give things names but

everything is already
named

The urge I feel is
to connect with this land
these plants birds songs
these trees

To name things would be
perverse

perhaps the place within
will always escape the name

In the mind one leaves leaves &
leaves
but on stone earth and grass one stays forever

I have a few trees on my tongue
oak    maple    birch

I have a few birds on my tongue
seagull   mallard    redbreast