Common Miracles (after Khadijah Queen)

across the lush emerald lawn         a dozen

         dandelions where just three

months ago spread only white,
only grey, only such a death that could bear

no resurrection.
birds sing                summer is here with air like

sweat and o, how we wish already
for october’s smokeless burn.      come january

we won’t believe the yard was once
          a scrambling thicket, sparrow throats in bloom.

we’ll walk on water and think:
in july            we would have drowned.

What are you looking for?