dandelion

 It's hot. I'm writing poetry. I dunno.

The Dandelion’s Prayer

 

There was a time

when I thought I might live forever

next to the tracks

where even weeds find their place.

 

I grew, I bloomed,

I danced with my friends,

hosted bugs,

basked in Your light

 

and You said: it is good.

 

Things started to change:

the others turned inward

and then…gone

and one day I, too, was different;

felt your warmth no longer,

only my own fragility

and the vastness of space

 

but You said: it is good.

 

So this is faith, I guess:

the willingness to let go

to be shattered

to be carried who knows where

on Your warm, Your cold, Your soft, Your gale-force breath of life.

 

May my memory be a blessing.