Oh, you foolish firsts;
we call you brave
harbingers of spring
who catch our eye
by shivering bluster -
winter's interface -
curled purple petals rolled
in vasts of ruffled green.
(Seventies blue-stocking
out from some Sobranie party.
Gown lost in town we worry.)
Flower in February desert
by marsh edge and dune waste
where bleached marram
pares nails -
(And yet, in mind's eye, hops
bicycle over wall - there!
Disappears into rented room.)
Not out of place at all -
who knows what foolish firsts
look for each other?
Early, burly bee,
whose furze is fuzz, shall
take the buzz, she will,
and back to touch those bases, must.
