What’s the word for when
oat grass shapes wind,
mist lifts then falls again,
cedar shade touches skin,
bronze fur foils emerald wings,
shush surrounds wild lilies,
new frogs decide to sing,
and old joys go guerrilla?

What’s the word for when
river’s voice raises swifts,
live oak bark’s burnt weird,
deer path’s perpendicular,
granite’s quartz shouts light,
petal’s edge is an intenser red,
that bird that’s bird that’s that bird,
sage scent’s insistence,
and expression’s<delicate?

What’s the word for when
feral parrots need no name,
fern frond unfurls in stone,
snakes’ sibilant dreams,
horizon’s an abundance of blades,
hawkmoth’s wings hyalesce,
meadow swells in noon sun,
death crisps fescue tips,
and an illusion turns true?

When remembrance shines liminal lines?
When grief’s beneath greenest leaf?
When cycles’ circle circles a cycle?
When cast down shadows meet?
When snowmelt mimics moon’s sickle?
When chrysalis shatters in silence?
And when persistent thought’s unheard?

What’s the word for when there is no word?