Walking through the grass I spot

An old dandelion

Dried up and withered

Because no one picked it

To rub upon her wrist to test her love of butter.

White and light, gray and worn

The dandelion in my hand promises'

To grant a wish upon the chance

That a breath will send the dandy seeds flying

Across the yard to land on any broken spot

Stir up a lingering heartbreak

Spark and heal.