In the tatty fog-wet grass
of our back yard
I find four perfect flowers.
I hunt the garden for their origin
but the trees haven’t woken
in this coldest month of winter
and the hazelnuts only have tassels.
Many of the natives have flowers
but not like these.
I must ask our son if he picked them
in a wistful moment
as we walked the growing puppy
and then forgot them in the grass.
Or did the fairies dance here
last night? And drop a piece
of some magical spring tiara?
Out of the Cave 