wordplayground

Of course each shrub and rodent has a name, sometimes more than one,
and every weed and every flower and all the sonorous trees,

and the winds too, their mistrals and siroccos and easts and wests,
but I am telling you to keep them from me a moment: if the gray jay 

and the pinyon jay are the same, I don’t need to know yet,
and I most want to get rid of Latin binomials. We are entering

new country. If I see the same squirrel five times, must I know 
there is one peripatetic, curious little animal, or may I believe

the woods are teeming with squirrels? The sun is brighter
here than anywhere else: I don’t care if the altitude provides a logical

explanation; it’s brighter now for other reasons. Observe:
the flowers here have more seductive fragrances. If I were to think 

your voice carries especially far because I always hear it,
or that the camp robber takes bread from my hand for reasons other

than greed, would it trouble you not to disabuse me? I’m not saying
forever. Long enough. A moment.