the particulars

how many times, this year, has the word love

been spoken (nervously, said inside over, and

over, until it had to be true)?

we wondered on that yesterday, during a walk in the wood

(generally, though specifically, a wander through moss coated

alder that had fallen into trapezoidal geometry between

the big spruce and toothpick trunks of all the dead yellow cedar,

old goat's beard drizzling off their branches, as winter wren

trickled medleys from somewhere hidden.)

i felt closer to the trees then usual,

and at one point, dug my fingers into some bark until it hurt

underneath.

i felt a little absurd, seeing myself push myself deeper into that scene,

trying so hard to be wild like the rest of it.

but i decided, anyways, that i loved a walk in the wood, and

also loved my love of a walk in the wood.

there have been at least three this year (waiting,

fidgeting, darting eye contact, then blurting out, awkwardly,

things they love). they have loved, generally, many things,

and have loved, more generally, loving those many things.

(they always congratulate themselves on finding the specifics--the skin

over your spine, the knobby

cartilage, the dimples where the tailbone

dips). 

i could never pin down the

difference between the winter wren and the pacific slope

fly catcher, between the sassafras and the crucifera,

between the puffballs and amanita,

even though the markings are as clear and distinct

as they have always been.

i appreciate, anyways the fullness of their general company,

their coloring the green walk in the wood.   

a field guide can't own the forest floor--

to name is not to own. 

dls