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Dandelion Clocks

we watched as spring slinked in on all fours,
meowing at winter’s hooves as he flew

off on snow-pocked wings; she entombed
her narcissus, her hyacinth. she waited.

our hands formed a basket and tapestry
of weaved fingers; we tucked our feet

into sun-kissed grains of sandboxes,
counting blades of grass; we fed

birds from benches dappled in dusk
and chipped paint and carvings. those hours,

our hours, stretched as sunsets tied
ribbons of red across the horizon,

the white clouds soaked in blood.
we slipped each moment into our pockets

while hoping for unshifting shadows of sundials.
the wind whistled as lions’ manes

blew themselves away, bearing our wishes.
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