Sunlit, a thousand tinctures of green.
Up, up through fretwork, a sparrow’s
clanky phrases, a cardinal’s flames.
Rustling a tulip poplar’s leaves, 
the question marks of a squirrel’s tail.
Through shrubby interstices, the white
flags of skittish deer. Along a dirt trail,
hieroglyphic prints and steamy scat
of red fox, black bear. Rinsing the air,
the tiny mouths of violets. As if a name
could tame what’s wild, black-eyed
Susan, bouncing Bet, butter and eggs, 
Queen Anne’s lace. Deep in shadow
where roots snake, like items dropped
in a fairytale, lady’s slippers, Indian pipes.