Volunteer tulips

Hard not to see yourself
in a field of daffodils,
to sigh as petals sag and then
grow crisp with age;
to watch that golden yellow
tan like ancient leather,
begin to crack and shred...

I prefer to identify instead
with the volunteer tulips;
sparks of red in the flaxen field
that grow larger as they age,
petals swelling into muchness,
reaching out to embrace the sun,
then curling down to fall away –
none of this dying on the vine for me.

They lie on their backs
in the muddy spaces between the leaves,
swollen petals blushing, fading,
crooning robust ditties
as the daffodils count their wrinkles
in the mirror of the sky.