Dandylions Poem by James McLain

They were here no more
than that
more even than I should know
things I should know
about the field and how they grow.
Stalks tall and green and long
and crying.
Their tops as white as snow.
Knowing some are yellow
each head upturned
that turns upon the wind
and how it blows.
From where the hand comes streaking up
moving up
so very slowly up
until it comes across the top and rubbed
it off and off it came.
As if in a breath or in a oceans breach
they flew
from lips intent apart
and popping tops on stems are pulled.
It's why the milk comes slowly seeping out
and why the seeds flew far away.