I woke up this morning arguing with the imaginary person I often argue with who suggests I am dormant, like a winter bulb. Imaginary botanical analogies must be corrected.

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There is a difference
between dormancy and death.
A tulip is prepared.
A field of daffodils in snow
knows winter is just that.

I am an orchard of fruit trees
clear-cut in mid July,
the ground heavily salted beneath me.

Not all green things grow back.


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