Dandelions
No solitary angel
heralding good tiding or great joy
but a field full of yellow fetish
an invasion of tangy troops
In a month the acres will turn
to cotton or soybean or corn
but not this morning because
right now is for the hippies
the unshackled, the dent de lion
Common as a yawn
familiar, a freaky déjà vu
of early, early spring
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