Hyacinth and daffodil
tenting the faded mulch
by the walk, yellow points
turning green
as they break through:
how demanding
they are. How insistent
as they push up and back into
what we call “our world.”
If they win —
if they bloom and glow
and spring is eventually signified
by their emergence and
triumphant opening —
if they win,
what becomes of the brokenhearted?
Where will we cry then?
Dark Matter 