naming

I want to call this early morning and a roof in patches of rust
and green. I want to call it birdsong. No sun. I want to call this
muddy road and tire tracks and a bird just flew across. A brown bird.
A thin strip of mountains and a sky that looks like no color.

I want to call this the first day and romance. I want to call this
headlight and big truck. I want to call this too much coffee
and not enough food. I want to call this lonely, too. I want to call
this animals in woods and soft beds of dry leaves. And rapture.

I want to call this breath, or water, and sometimes singing.