all over my equations
and in my poems
The Tulip knows when to take those tentative steps out of the bulb. It is fully aware of breaking out and moving up.
There never is a full cognizance of the three feet of drifted snow that fell in its path now made of concrete. It was not awakened in the summer by jack hammer or spade.
Perhaps somewhere in its subconscious it took in the news of change through the morse of tramp and industry but it did not know.
A shift in frost, worms knock on our skin and the rise in temperature makes us flush. I grab my wife’s hands and step out of and into. We rise together in the hope of Christ.
the Narcissus spears
leave their warm cozy rest
to die again
and again and again
shrivelled not an option