Not hard to find on the side of the road
when it rains, seeds scattered for a quarter-mile,
they wave from different places every spring

from the shoulders of armor-coated oil
on top of the cold-rolled from the old days that
follows the creek up, survivors of summer traffic,

hoards headed for the hills, kids out of school,
crotch rockets and motor homes, hidden U-haul
crews farming contraband, and the natives

with goosenecks, all stirring seed—plus
the natural forces like the runoff rivulets
and those dropped by birds that germinate.

Not hard to find going slowly, but dangerous
on weekends looking for reassurance, for
the first white lupine blooming in spring.

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