RECOGNIZING TREES

I recognize some of them,
a chestnut tree, a copper beech maybe.
It's a kind of game,

giving everything a name
when they're only molecules, moving randomly.
I recognize some of them,

a group of pigeons, a squirrel that looks tame
chasing breadcrumbs, walking down a tree.
It's a kind of game,

this struggle to survive, to claim
meaning for everything, store it in a library.
I recognize some of them

but none of the people here who came
on lunch breaks, with take-away cups of coffee.
It's a kind of game

even if I decide not to play it, just remain
on this park bench in a kind of numb frenzy.
I recognize some of them,
It's a kind of game.