Ponder the audacity
Of a crocus
Its fragile sails billowing
In the wind chill
Asserting its preposterous
existence through
The dismal dregs of
Snow that you know
Won’t be the last of the year.
Here is a flower with faith,
A plant that believes in
Impossibilities
Like itself, and because it believes,
It rises yearly at this
Inauspicious time
Like one briefly dead, like the
First fruits of them that sleep.