in our next lives, we say.
to gather--to earn--to find--
whatever we miss here, we say, on the next attempt,
we will secure.
(everybody wants to be a tree; nobody
wants to be a blade of grass.)
but if i am any part of my self following
whatever is to come,
i am most likely a dandelion: simultaneously
edible and purposeless, beautiful
and entirely at odds with every aesthete.
i am here to be digested.
i am full of sour milk.
coming in alone, leaving alone, is purity
to me. a full circle of absolution:
let me be useful, in the end.