I sit at the table
Trace wooden knots of hidden stories
With fingertips.
I wait.

Somewhere, out of sight,
A clock is too busy ticking
Out of time.

Too fast
Too slow.
Precious seconds
Perfect minutes,
Lonely hours
Another voiceless day.

I tap my fingers impatiently
On the table top,
Waiting for words
That have drifted carelessly
Away into the silence
On the wings of dandelion seeds.



2 thoughts on “Dandelions

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