Unabashed

Early spring weeds in my yard

lattice-like weave across the hard scrabble

dig in with their insistent toes

and unfurl themselves

verdant and swollen

to the unabashed sun;

I hesitate to cut them

though I know they are a risk

and they make my dog itch

struck by the way they reach

unburdened by my hand

open themselves wild and free

it’s like they belong to this yard

and not me.