Revisionist Poetry – “Taraxacum Census” – Ephemeral, v.2

Dandelion fluffs dance on the wind,
brief as a held breath, scattering secrets
to their wild kin — the nation of Taraxacum.
They birth themselves in the hairline breaks
of sidewalks, in the gutters of our days,
unfazed by the concrete worlds we build.

Golden cups open like small beacons;
a child’s palm cupped, a commuter’s step
— quiet proofs that life keeps finding purchase.
In the arc from bloom to seed they teach:
moments arrive fierce as summer squalls,
beautiful and terrible, then gone.

When the hairs go airborne, carried off by a stray air
they do not vanish so much as redistribute:
a legacy of fragments, of roots that remember
how to pry open the smallest seam.
Let the bright discs stay with you a little while —
not as doctrine, but as proof:
the fragile leave marks.