All afternoon I watched
the air fill itself with
florets, a stagnant cloud
of whiteness awkwardly
suspended above the fields
floating towards the horizon.
Near the end, you seemed
the same to me. Your kiss
growing weaker across
the room, a stale quarantine
of windborne seeds
lacking the substance to
land anywhere near me.
All afternoon I watched
the fields with bitter sadness.
The florets of dandelions
-like all things that travel the wind-
sailing the un-destined path
towards the horizon.
DQ 1/23/09
