I do not understand nature.
Cannot match bird to song,
leaf to tree, petal to flower;
too much learned at arm’s length,
the secondhand story
that comes from the TV or movies.
Among birdsong
in all its seasons,
I am confused,
out of my element,
feigning disinterest,
not knowing where to start.
Reading poems about milkweed,
poppies, or
“a thing as lovely as a tree”
can fill the gaps,
or leave me empty
-for what I have missed,
what I will never know.