Thieves
       

We filch
happiness
from the seed
pods of touch-
me-nots,
the explosion
of their husks
as they curl
backward
to expose
the future,
the leap
forward
into dreaming
dust, into
waiting out
winter
with hopes
a speckled
horn
will blossom
and bees
will crawl
inside it
to blow
a coupled
music.

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Copyright © 2016 Todd Davis All rights reserved
from Winterkill
Michigan State University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission