Mountain Daffodils

like little yellow stilettos
that shoot up out of the earth’s
meadowed muck.
I sip my morning coffee.
then kneel beside these blooming brigades
and introduce myself.

soon hikers will thrash a path.
find this golden garden.
might even spy a circling hawk.
but these yellow trumpets are the stars.
as lords of the land, these jewels rule.
here, a hundred worlds away
from my insidious complaints
of city life,
I put clean breaths back into my body.
these shiny medallions,
these relished roots of the land,
stubborn, light weight, offer up
a voice that greets my tears
and my heart with joy.
they are a mysterious bridge
that takes me back home
unsullied.
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.