Dandelion

With thumb and forefinger, I swooped
swiftly down upon it: Dandelion.

That weed of promise, cousin of hawkweed,
of hawksbeard.

Seed-head limp with promise.
Burdened with whisper-dream,
a tiny dying planet upon my palm.

I made for the window-sill.

Flesh-cage unfurling, knuckles and joints release,

a drunken moth.

Wind borne
It traces invisible tramways
towards the end of August.