Naming

A ghost is steam from utterance, on a still evening—leaves. A tractor pulls a flock of

birds. You, naming animal, walk through a forest, mumbling. Daylight’s thread still

suspends a thrush with its one bright idea, exposing its wings to the wind. The apple from

the supermarket tastes of the weather months ago, on another continent. The tongue’s

body walks and the horizon no longer contains it.

Giles Goodland is a poet who gets lost in the dictionary and emerges at the end of his career offering his unreserved apologies to all concerned.