I.
Spring, and the flowers
push
through the heart of everything
break

through the darkness
rise
from their places of waiting.

II.
You want to know the easy way,
That's why you've come

You want to know the way of flowers
The way they rise effortlessly
Bright and irregular,
Like those preserved
In vibrant oils
By that madman van Gogh.

III.
But do they wait?
Do they know this thing
called time,
called laborious,

called anything
but what it should
be called,
its true name?

IV.
For some reason
I was still thinking of winter,
Of the slick, black branches
The whole time searching
For an easier way.
I almost missed it---
I almost missed everything.

 V.
The trillium stood
gleaming
in the shadows
in the sparse

patches among the lavish
fern fronds. I do not
need to tell you
there was music:

it was soft, yet so perfectly
clear and inviting,
you hear it now,
wherever you stand.

VI.
You want to know the easy way,
The way without interruption,
The way without the thoughtless knocking
Of the brash and hapless world:

The trillium

VII.
stood in the shadows,
singing, as I said;
it did not need my admiration,
my anecdotes; it did not need

my affection nor my worries
It stood complete
Aware even, perhaps,
of its steady

and easy
slide
its return to nothingness,
in the heart of everything.