Three crisscrossed daffodils
faint lamps in the rubble

where without any warning
I'm shattered by your absence

wondering will I always
blunder into this emotion

so large and mute it has no name
—not grief  longing  pain

for those are only its suburbs
its slightly distracting cousins—

summoned just now by these
frilled blossoms

butter yellow horns
on lemon yellow stars

indifferent   innocent
charging in place

advance guard of a season
when I will join you.