the sun hard on the valley
while water curled inside the hose
and a weed cracked the driveway
because why wouldn’t it,
hair of the earth, fur of the planet;
no,
just wild grass learning
to stake a claim
as clover lucked because it could,
morning glories because they don’t ask,
ivy because the fence was bored,
the gold and the yarrow,
the dandelions with their cheap yellow crowns,
the fig vine slow-dancing up the wall,
all of them rising
without permission,
covering the yard like thought,
like accident,
like the first idea of color.
