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.