Pioneer Plants
By Beck Sebenius
Response 

Potting pools with portage waves singing along like nothing has changed,
Present places without a place to stay, with new things passing every day;

All the while the rich cool purples explode with puffs and sizzles,
Until it all blooms abound, bouncing round things round, and it ripens;

Though the strands sing aloud that there’s a wily wind around,
For the crown doesn’t fit the barbarella spit, but there’s still something there in that hair;

Eating the greens without a watch-clock, while the dusklight envelopes the raw and the ripe,
Until the forest fawns – they finally catch the night.

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