behold, a clover opens in the gloaming:
bone white bloom against blue night,
petals spreading without end,
a twitching damp thing
with four leaves.

hope is a garden.
hope is fertile ground
for weeds.

i am gophers in the soil.
i am fur pelt full of burrs,
i am digging in with teeth,
i am hyphae plunging down,
i am reaching every nodule,
i am planting clovers,
i am laughing
with the worms.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Chronos, in the year 929 AF.