At first—that
rude and
sort-of right
angle of shade
where all
our thought-
less rubble—
crumbling road-
side's shredded
gravel, shocks
of greenyellow
Heineken bottles, little shards
of grass in swollen plastic
bags of Swedish
Fish and Bugles—
butts awkward-
ly
up
against the balmy woozy shade
of a midwest south
suburban woodfall—doesn't really
seem to be
particularly
special—let alone amazing;
until
a certain
single day
when suddenly—and only
in that
shady tumbledown
and particular
kind
of place—
there's daisies.
