Say that nature has no opinion
and that the names of things out here
are rendered to their right
and panoptic position floating above
nothing, above what seem just
like trees. And that constant
near-constant refusal to name is the state
we’ll instead pay to get into
away from the aggressive this has happened
of the outdoor moment, observing
our words repelled, handed back to us
through the grass in kansas or maybe
utah, past the gnarled bodies of failed trees
inside the hours of resplendent oddness
that I killed with a few idly chosen words.
Multiple horizons, just lines
not ready to be assigned
to the pit of itself: a small, steady

Hacking sound in the wilderness.
I will no longer hurl adjectives at a tree
or chase through an interesting field
my desire to be compared to,
to be admired in, the assertive world of flame. 

I will suppress my desire to personify.
I will acknowledge more distance than I cover.