Daffodils, two of them, astonish me,
Ambushing me from winter’s nowhere
And nothing, between tectonically separated
City sidewalk rammed up by an oak tree’s
Roots and the rumbling blur of a street, heir
To compost of last year’s leaves, decorated
By the locust shells of Trojans and Nestlé’s.
The green stems bend with the bright Easter weight
Of the bulbs, richer than yolks, stronger than sunlight,
Swaying portentously in the warm breeze.
Hidden in their hoods like crayon cobras, they wait
With lamprey maws. Then another strange sight
From my window, the Cherry Blossom,
Only yesterday a skeletal display,
Now shines like sunset on miles of snow,
And I am relieved. Spring tallies its sum.
Light on a white patch of wall at mid-day
Reminds me to hang something there, though
I don’t know what, but it’s been a full year
Or longer I’ve meant to do it, and yet
I’ve done nothing, or done so much else I forgot.
No. Three years. Can it be? Four? Fear
Starts to get the best of me, an old debt
Ignored and climbing. Equations will work out
To conclusions, whatever they may be.
By afternoon, one of the daffodils is dead,
Torn and stomped apart by a passing kid.
I float in the mystery of a tranquil
Red-shift, an unending afternoon, always
Away from an unknown source, arguing I’m free,
That I can stay here and all else, ablaze,
Must turn about me just to keep me still.