The expulsion
Dandelions were not intended here
so I pronounce them ‘Weed’;
wrench them out, expel them,
bid them burn their bright discs
in another place; leave me to coax
petunias or dahlias out of this warm earth.
Their tiny suns fold into a sleep, a change
and come the first warm days
a frail sphere, soft as web, will bloom,
silent as sin and wind-borne,
they’ll paraglide in battalions
to storm my tidy world.
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