Blue tulips in April are mine.I have claimed them all as my own.I allow them to cleave the groundyou watch them grow from,every act of agriculturea wayward rebellionbeneath a forgiving sun. I am at this moment the devil’s giftat communion, the air you takeas you swallow bread and wine. Divine is the art you attemptwith blades and vases, an army of colors,when the only one that concerns me...