If I could tell you the names of each tree
and think it important, I would.
No doubt, I would probably exchange one or two for the other;
considering their likeness of leaves or the way they lean away from wind
it is easy to do.
But I would rather tell you about
their yellow-quilled flags floating and swimming at the surface of a large pond,
and their golden synchronicity like a school of Jumper Fish,
in a tide of trees.
I would rather relive the chill of a walk through fall,
a maze through the woods, and the surprise of an infant creek trying to float
the earthen-wet needles and diamonds;
sewing, and softening, and marrying source with source.
And I would like to tell you that when I succumbed to their stilled intermission,
when my own horizontal source stared through each brown-skinned wing toward sky
my desire for that kind of recitation was corrected by the carrion below.