I leave you with my hair and thoughts as fierce
in disarray as dandelion seeds.
And who would think those windblown wisps could pierce
the ground, come spring, like my impatient needs
will do? Tell me how I can comfort you --
what do the dandelions tell the wind?
You scatter me so easily -- I flew
before your touch. Now I cannot begin
To root myself – the dying earth forbids
intrusions of that kind, so I am still
at wing. I'd spin us both a chrysalis
against the coming cold -- but how then will
we two emerge? We'll breathe the shocking air --
and scatter snake-green sproutlings everywhere.