Mountain Daffodils

they're like little yellow stilettos
that shoot up out of the earth’s
meadowed muck.
these blooming brigades
strike with wild beauty.
I sip my morning coffee.
introduce myself
to their circle.

soon hikers will thrash a path.
find this charming garden.
even spy a circling hawk
with its plunging eyes.
but these yellow trumpets are the stars.
they are the lords of the land,
the jewels, the flamboyant ones.
they talk with the power of nature's rich soul,
far from the brute city life.
there are no measures of right and wrong.
these shiny medallions,
these relished roots of the land,
stubborn, light weight, offer up
a journey to beautiful things,
to the unseen in my heart.
a fine consequence
of spring and summer broth,
and fall’s barren breeze.

Lucky

he lurched from the bushes.
stared. declared his presence.
I was staunch, resolute.
no I said.
but he demanded.
he put his chin on my knee.
gave me his two bold eyes.
his red collar said Lucky.
he sat right beside me.
shameless I said.
I jostled.  turned away.
pretended not to notice.
I did my best but his zestful
look had mastery.
humans never greet me
with such affection.
I gave him a half sandwich.
this little fox ate to his pleasure.

I ambled to the park.
sat by a picnic table.
he trotted behind me like my BFF.
no, I said. no more.
go chase a bird.
he refused.
he put his chin back on my knee
and looked straight up.
I broke. 

later I saw him nudge another.
found himself more goodies.
he's not lucky,
I said.
he’s smart.