Names as phenomena themselves change
And slide like the rock face beside me when
I paused in the long drive through almost
But never the same. Names for phenomena,
However, remain impoverished patches
Making it seem, while they last, that things
Exist and are countable and accountably
Stable. I have been lulled to boredom
Many times by the apparent sameness
Of things for which I had insufficient names.
This township on a river for instance, when
I waited for an end to claim me, seemed
Like a repetition. Here I am again, same
Old place, same old name, why even
State it when it's over and over the same?
I supposed sameness is longing, is fear,
Although fear only slows even the most
Skilled creature capable of standing as stock
Still as the deer that froze and observed me
While I parked under the furrowed brow
Of that lava wall I'd composed my thoughts
Around before. See? Nothing happening
Here. The doe disappeared, or tried;
The name for the stones, pillowed lava once
Flowing, long cold, reappeared, looking
No different, the wall no different, the town,
Same thing, same poem. Same names
For everything. I turned off the sickly
Sounding engine, rolled open a window, then
Waited until the doe, no names of her own,
Twitched an ear and ran for the river. Wind
Picked up, rumbled, and winter trees rustled,
But I had no names left to exchange for her.
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