A silent meadow...
Dark, unsung...
Until sweet music
Gives it tongue

Hath raised its song!
Ah, listen. Hark!
The meadow’s tongue,
The meadowlark.

And strangely,
As its name is sung,
The meadow and the lark
Are One.

For song with Being
Doth endue,
And hillsides spring
To life anew,

And stranger yet,
The musicked word
That sings the meadow
Names the bird.

Just so the Name
Creates the Thing
When names are sung
And words take wing.

IF... who best sing
The world to show it
May achieve
The name of poet,

SO... who best sing
The field or park
May deserve the
Name of lark.

‘Tis writ of Eden
Adam’s job
Was naming all
The things of God,

So with magic names
Adam and the
World of Man.

As God said simply
“Let it be,”
Creating Man
And all we see,

So in His image,
With word and name,
Men fashion Selves and Worlds
The same,

For Self and Other
May seem distinct,
Not an identity
Nor linked,

But life’s a list
Slowly unfurled
Of all we know
About the World,

Thoughts, things, facts,
Ideas... the gist,
And in our heads
We build the list

Of all things OTHER
We thought we knew.
But lose THAT LIST
And you’ve lost YOU.

Hath Word the
Power to convey
Being Itself?
So Be it may.

Starry billions
Have no name,
Lost in oblivion,
Lost to fame,

But name a Cygnus!
Ah... ‘tis dawn
For one celestial
Sailing Swan.

And whatsoe’er
Its language be...
The goat - the mountain,
The frog - the tree,

The lark - the meadow
The man - all things,
‘Tis the identity
That sings.

Only take care!
Whate’er you name it,
Good or bad,
For you must claim it,

Mind what magic
Words may do,
For, sweet or sour,
The names are YOU.

Our names enlighten
All that’s dark.
Be... while you may...
The meadowlark.