I Celebrate I celebrate the least among us, a clanging, a gang, urbane microbes, ourselves. Past grape hyacinth, perwinkle we walked as we had walked before. Past our ratcheted up pasts, our tattered dreamtimes, past catkin berribboned trees into the turbulent torturous onward growing green, flagrant, precipitous. Past tulips, forget-me-nots, dog turds, horsetails - immense demonic onrushing spring. Past our furtherest reach the pussy willows dream. We have kept walking where we had walked before. Faded fortune's best attested to. Brazenly indifferent to climatic, gripped, incandescently brief surges. Trees, wind, and driven rain. What's left? parched cacophony's spring? Attenuated, lessened to a brown-green? Not to have stood still, a litany of gross, flamboyant, unprepared to be compost.