Out past the empty barn,
twin Percherons, tall as steeples,
canter across their meadow
to greet my small son and me.
A freak tornado had snapped its aged limbs,
one angled like a lap where our son had snuggled,
sheltered by green in summer, copper in fall.
…assess this particular pebble’s
cool weight in your palm,
the diameter of its smoothness,
the course it traveled over the seabed
You said, Name the world.
So I said, I call this a spangle tree.
How about, you said, a rose-hued spangle tree.
That’s beautiful, I said.
Let’s name the world together.