Poets for Science
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Crocus sativus / Crocus





Late snow weights the petals, 

dry-wilt thin, flattened open 

on the ground. Feels like loss, 

though the bluebells, daffodils

will be up tomorrow, day after. 

Corms will keep their soil-deep

waiting. Pale one, soft as lips, 

the words we have for home

name the place and not the 

harms that happen to us there. 

What choice do we have but 

make our way through layers 

that smother us, destruction 

falling toward us on the wind.