Naming
Once, I didn’t know the names of birds.
Their voices dropped
(welcome but unaccountable) from trees
likewise un-christened.
And a slant light glistened,
and I, to seize
the living moment, stopped –
but it had passed already beyond words.
Once, I didn’t know the names of flowers.
They always caught
me by surprise, pushing their starry noses
through gravel dust
with an unreasonable trust.
Of course I knew the roses
but not that twinkle in the parking lot,
anonymous among the weeds and burrs.
But “tanager,” you said, and “violet,”
“nuthatch” and “aster,”
pointing to the cones
of Douglas firs. So now I see
fixed patterns in the bark of every tree.
Even the great blue herons
accept their name – oh blessing or disaster
that made astonishment articulate.
Hilary Biehl’s poems have appeared in Blue Unicorn, Able Muse, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, and elsewhere. Her poetry collection, Giants Crossing (Kelsay Books, 2025) received the Poetry by the Sea Book Award. She lives in New Mexico.
Amethyst Review 