Name

Name
By R.M. Wilcher

Sing again the words forgotten, cry
the name of where the mountain folds
into mountain into sky
swept snow-full, pink gowns and golds
all given in the evening.

Tell how each turning leaf is tongue
of the oak-grove, the wild, a wind,
in their remembering of a song world-sung
it will yet sing before the end.

And let old and new give thanks and name
to the things we have lost in their places:
the way the world is brightly from a flame
and the features of men’s faces.

---

R.M. Wilcher
Writer & Academic

Photography by Raffo Perez