To Culver. Vulvulate. Cultivate.

I rake the wake, wait—
no, I wake the rake, the bait
bate the wings of hawks, bait the birds
and me too, me three
cause me and you plant seeds
in furrows and billows of the moist cloudy
dirt.

Dirt is sifted with a sieve in March
because March is the time when yellow shoots
give a holler of life up to the sky, thrust out
perennial heads from the warming ground
till they wither down dead, shelled tuxedo men
with rusty roots.