Thoughts Disperse Like Dandelion Seeds
Thoughts disperse like dandelion seeds,
all that has been, out-grows present and future,
becomes enormous in a mouse hole.
Moths are pinned to carnival garments,
only their quicksilver eyes glitter .
Those wall clocks
the nails that have hung all those hammer-struck faces,
even my face, they are younger than the hands
that set them there,
younger than the sleepless pad of my bare feet.
What great teaching unpacks this emptiness?
Perhaps the dandelion seeds
or the act of their dispersal are the revelation,
or maybe the rustle of mothwings --- a whisper
of some yet other enormity lost now
in the minds shabby pockets.
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