squint

If she stared up
the hillside and through
the black trunks
she had a sense
that she might
be able to discern
something significant Red
leaf from yellow
leaf was easy
Black jagged
line seeming too-straight
too regular for random
ness was
she knew
branches
or twigs pushed
into pattern by rain
But from this distance
she couldn’t tell
if the leaf blanket
was maple or aspen
if the clumps of brush
knotted in the branches
were merely dead
branches or
nests the squirrels
had built
or how far down
the roots of the maple
or aspen or sycamore
tangled with the cooling earth
or whether it
mattered anyway
So much (distance
faulty eyesight fog-laden
air) might prevent
the knowing
show a pile of brush
for black-grey rock
The only one there
at the foot
of the hillside
she had to
after all
determine the way things are
(always
needing more acuity less
distance better
clues) needing
the five points
of a red leaf a twig’s smooth
skin in her hand
hand thrust beneath
eyes
sky-colored eyes squinting
a bit
to name
what they could
what they knew
after all
whether maple or
sycamore.