To Pick Her Dandelions

Upon the lawn, an ersatz, golden head,

The shame of a stepmother’s gilded blade,

Where nose-breaking blooms in beds are shit-fed,

She waxed within the moonpool of my shade.

***

Lionization bit the morning bed,

With switchback fire caught from southern skies,

Her sharp-tongued roots were deep and causal red,

Like the rough rouge painted in mirrored lies.

***

And soon Narcissus must answer a ghost,

In rubber spheres of bands against my neck,

To ride winds that haunt a forgiven coast,

And find a life within diurnal wreck.

***

A thousand dandelions take flight and sow,

To bloom again wherever the breezes blow.