North America
           under their arms
           and use it with impunity.

           But the urge for names came so strong
           one spring
           I sat in a borrowed hat
           under the blazing sky
           growing brown and freckled
           then bought my own
           lime green
           leatherbound volume.
           O Audubon, I am yours.

           On the kitchen table
           I set up a lusty conference
           of flowers plucked from
           the deep woods.
           They drooped half dead
           white hooded   blue tipped
           fragrant pink-walled vessels
           that became full again in my ample vase,
           pert at baby birds.
           I counted petals,
           touched light and leaf
           breathed color
           felt the quick sting
           of fragility,
           then
           strummed and hummed
           through Audubon.
           O give them all a name.