We called them clocks
though I never thought much then
about time. Just downy-headed dandelions
and counting down
in numbered breaths, one, two
the seeds wayward with the way
the wind elects
parachuting to safety
elsewhere
I recall relief in that release
liberation in the hands of a child,
Airborne on her breath, on the loose
adventurers, feather light and flying fast
further even than tumbleweed
can roll.
Now I see how quickly
time turns those heads;
one day in May, lion mane yellow
a full ball of fluff turned in a trice
then gone on the wind.
These are our sakura moments
telling of transience
like clocks.
Lillian is host and Its open link night @ dVerse where anything goes
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