Asparagus

Last fall you bolted oblivion and erred. 
Your feathers and beads trampled by needles.
Where was I?

Canada overhead. Our village down by a third.
This morning you show me a sixteenth of yourself.
I haven’t been paying attention.

Did my neglect of  your heart
choke the false and bushy carrots?
The new grass congratulating itself?

Our horses bolt when the dust devil snakes their fuzzy legs.

Neighbor Yvonne said, We hope you stay and die here with the rest of us.