My friend lives at the base of gently rolling hills
that serve as farmland for alternating crops of corn and soy.
Today he told me he thinks that Josie’s getting ready to plant.
He had the machinery out yesterday. First time this year.
As I drive the curving road that passes through the place,
sprawled from horizon to horizon all the way from the woods
to the turnpike, I try to brush the questions from my mind.
But they’re stuck like bugs on a windshield, and all I can do
is look past them for now. So I peer down the timeline,
visualize these fields bright with sprouting crops
that shine in a late spring sun. When I get home
I see that my daffodils are singing a fanfare
for the coming season. The questions remain.
But life is little more than questions, one after another.
This is my world now, and daffodils are sprouting.