by Elsa Johnson

                           We’re not really in control here I realize

stepping out my back door this May morning

and there assaulted by spring’s green bore              that

tide-like overrules my plans and inclinations     —

Sensations of attack                      The trees green leaves

burn neon          —         a visible vibration          –        and

where backyard grass grows inch an hour       a buckeye

sprouted overnight                     Meanwhile honeysuckle

sends out tendriled shoots  :  wends tight to the ground   

War   :   irresistible        —          Green Peace a misnomer

                             pitiful our arrogance as this great wave

builds a sea                           Only with great effort do we

maintain primacy                         Sovereigns of the world

we think ourselves  :                       nature a biddable she