The clematis revolted this year,
refused to climb the lamppost.
Spreading sideways, its purple blooms
stretch out toward the lawn, tease the grass,
trace its green hem. The neighbors cluck
as they go by, frown at winding vines.

In the shadow of the porch, I wait,
move words around the page, listen
as the vinyl siding snaps in the heat.
The morning sizzles like lightning,
raising the hair on my forearms.

Dandelions hum below the soil, unencumbered
by expectation or order, stretch their arms
upward. They hyphenate the landscape–
bend grasses sideways with their jagged edges
and yellow poms, take the stage to mixed reviews.

When they have conquered this place,
they’ll reveal their seedlings slowly,
gently expose wisps of someday flowers,
softened to a purr. Each stem will wear poetry
like a crown of white stars, wishes ready
to ascend on a reckless wind.