lizzie run up the hedge 

i ask the the ground ivy that crawls
up the throat of my favorite tree 
in, "how do you feel about 
our names for you?" common names
are probably my favorite form
of micro poetry. a story in a body
in a name. ground ivy can be 
creeping charlie can be gill over ground
can be runaway robin. the ivy responds by
climbing higher. an escape or a question?
i wonder then too if the ivy has 
common names for us. tiny poems 
in which it tries to hold onto us.
maybe syrup spinners or laughing legs?
i ask the ivy if she is willing to disclose 
one of those names. she hushes in 
a breeze. the trees whisper in each other's ears.
i think it is probably good that there
are secrets kept from me. afterall, i am
a poet & i would definitely tell everyone.
i am not good at keeping things under wraps.
still i ask them again. they give me a leaf
that falls on my tongue. i tell them i think
lizzie run up the hedge is a little absurd
as far as common names go.
the ivy tells me it remembers the young girl
who used to crawl through the yard brush.
her soft skin. her mother then who 
came up with the common name.
she was thinking of her daughter long after
the girl turned into a passing cloud. 
she would go & talk to the ivy & the ivy
would respond by growing as wild as
she could. there are poems written only
in names. i thank the ivy for gifting me
that story. now when i see the vines growing
all i can think of is the mother there. 
sometimes she even arrives. i bring her tea 
& we whisper to the plants. our breath,
like clouds. her daughter up the hedges
& like blue broth up in the sky.