The blade of grass
straight and mean
its edge
is like a guillotine
it grows
unknown
no name
it has
it burst
out of the dirt
like jazz
Springtime in Chicago
is cold
sunny
and damp
bitter
hopeful
sharply
erasing
the winter
rushing in with a
waterfall of daffodils
the big band sound
of trumpets inside
of every tulip
bursting high