A late start to a new year

sunrise
crack, crack, crack
go my ankles

hurrying from the bank

hurrying from the bank
the guard cradles
his Tupperware

working out an image

now that I know its name
nandina
everywhere


This is the first version of a small idea/image I've been rolling around today. This particular one ends up being about the limits of subjectivity -- how the world can appear to be an undifferentiated mass before you learn the names of its individual parts -- and the poem sounds a bit egotistical because of that. Of course all of the nandina plants I'm noticing now existed before I knew what to call them. I was just slow to catch on to their identity and their beauty. But hopefully the poem gets across enough of the joy and magic of learning the proper names of things to overcome its egocentric basis...

Or how about:


learning a new name --
nandina
everywhere


The ego isn't as abruptly stated in that version -- no "I" is bossily intruding and taking ownership of the reader's experience of the image...

Maybe I've just been saying the word "nandina" too much, but now this is starting to feel like one of those times when absolute minimalism might work:


nandina

everywhere


Or just for fun, something more fanciful:


how long was she there
before I learned her name?
nandina

where the house's shadow

where the house's shadow
falls on the grass --
morning frost

naked

winter trees
show the shape
of their winter mind

giant holly leans

giant holly leans
away from the giant oak --
the smell of rain

gas station bathroom

gas station bathroom --
on the sink, unmoving
a stinkbug