From just-June’s
generous sun
come snouts through solid
soil like hogs
tracking truffles
in tangled leaf litter,
red rockets from
subterranean pads
borne up
on blind bandy-legged stems,
obeying orders
of otherworldly wills
to defy the downward
drag of gravity,
these spiky shoots
upstretched and thick
uncurl their curd-like
culver buds,
transformed to feathers
flounce of doves.
