First thing this morning
I wanted to write my syllabus
I wanted to tell of reasons
And good in the reason-giving sense
I wanted to tell of value and judgment
Of dialogue and understanding the significance of facts

But instead my attention was captured
By a short-leaf pine and a pin oak
Rooted in the ground as one
Which I had never noticed in my neighbor’s yard
And admittedly separate boles split off
After the first three or four feet

But it definitely isn’t a pin oak
On second thought perhaps some sort of hickory
But the longer I looked
The less confidence I felt
That I would ever know
What in itself it actually is