igniting the world
in an unheard crackle
of dying anticipation
embers fizzling in weak light
the trees on fire
* * * *
After the last frost I spot one or two in my yard,
scouts hidden among the grass,
moving into position.
I cut them down with the mower, triumphant,
and spray pesticide on their ragged leaves to root them out.
Victory will be mine.
But the next spring rain brings with it
out of my window I can see
troops of yellow-headed flowers overtaking my lawn