months in advance.
The troops are entrenched: Africa, Holland, Guatemala,
summer's mummified icons.
Against November's frost, I launch
passive torpedoes, cocoon-like dwarf dahlias.
Tiny trip-wire crocus
wait to detonate March.
Beneath shriveling amaryllis swords,
guerilla grape hyacinths quietly muster.
Anemones infiltrate herb garden walls,
burst against the eye in a gaudy invasion.
White narcissus resist underground until deepest winter
when they resurrect and attack.
Blasted lobelia have no choice;
the encircled carnations fall and surrender.
