i.
Out of all the ways it could’ve happened
there’s this daffodil at the edge of the curb.
This honeybird daffodil. It could’ve been
a road sign, as at many corners this has happened;
so many lifeless road signs. But on this corner
a honeybird daffodil is shooting
out of the soil, like a fountain of yellow—
is shooting out of the wet soil.
And of all the things that had to happen,
out of all the ways it could’ve happened,
it’s the daffodil, shooting
out of the soil like a fountain of yellow—
This daffodil. This honeybird daffodil.
ii.
Out of all the ways it could’ve happened
there’s this dead and rotting sparrow on the side
of the road, this rotting and maggot-filled
sparrow. It could’ve been the daffodil,
as at the curb is the daffodil, the honeybird daffodil.
But it’s not the daffodil; it’s the flat
and fly-ridden sparrow, sinking
into the parched earth, like water.
And of all the things that had to happen,
out of all the ways it could’ve happened,
it’s the dead and rotting sparrow
on the side of the road. This rotting
and maggot-filled sparrow. Not the daffodil.
