Double bloom columbine line the front porch
like lavender bells waiting to ring for a wedding
so small it could only end in success.  Rufus
hummingbirds mark their territory huffed up
like sophomore boys at the last dance in spring.
The rains last so long no one thinks of corn.
Sunflower seeds sit on the counter untouched.
We wear wool socks to bed one week before June.
Today I told your story, the one about the lost poems.
In another spring you knew where to hide
when science class sent you on a forced march.
Once I hid in a garage until the people looking
for me quit calling, their voices settled on evening
until their echoes sparked in a night so quiet each
trace showed the face of someone burned twice.
No luck falls too fast, no bells ring too soft to hear.