Poem: Dandelions

 

Dandelions

 

the clouds,

once zinc lids on february,

open to your omens.

 your sensitive pores.

 

i dance to gather

the whisk of your touch,

cool under my naked soles,

 

and must ask:

 

why did stars erode,

discs of a shattered spine,

not alert or tangy or able to pout,

concerning this day?

 

why did they falter,

those stellar wishes and silvers,

who pale before your fulgent brush,

so yellowy and glorious?

 

they knew--

you button spring’s dress,

folded in turn by warmth's breeze.

you herald the sensual corn silks

 and delitescent spider webs.

please 

take me now, one last time,

while i skip imbued

by the skyblue, flowery awe

of a child.

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Anniversary of my brother's death.  He liked sunflowers.