Sunday, November 27, 2016

D is for dandelion

I owe it to you.
Standing up after falling,
holding myself gently.

We disentangle ourselves
from memories of togetherness,
set them to continue drifting,

once a week I still wish I
had worked harder at my
pretending.

I owe it you.
The conscience of my limits,
the opening up to impermanence.

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