confident and true,
sprouts of tulip
and daffodil
poke through the well-
drained soil. One
thinks of espionage,
a listening post
gathering intelligence
from weather and sending
it to handlers underground.
Some of the sprouts
look like a green cat's
ears. They hear the jazz
of warmth. Others seem
the shape of the tip
of the trowel used
by some hulking mammal
in clothes, planting
sadly in October,
preparing the floral
resurrection grave.
hans ostrom
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