Heavenward

Such power in the naming of things—

To walk out in the greensward pronouncing

Goldfinch, lilac, oriental poppy—

as if the shaping of the thing in sound

produced a pleasure like the sight of things

as if the housefinch winters in the mock-orange is

as tasty an intelligence to the lips and ears as

the sight of a small purple bird in December is

perched in a thicket of bald branches.

June you remember: the white blossoms, yellow

jackets, the fresh scent of heaven.

And other incarnations to be named:

nuthatch, magnolia, coreopsis, rose.

Surely this was God’s first gift of godliness—

that new index finger working over the globe

assigning from the noisy void those fresh,

orderly syllables. Ocean, garden,

helpmate, tree of knowledge.

Making came easy, creation

a breeze. But oh, that dizzy pleasure when

God said Eve and the woman looked heavenward.

~Thomas Lynch