The Dandelion

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Neon explosions over an urban mascara sky;
I cry for hidden hedgehog spikes. 
In the morning, 
one lone dandelion stands in the park; 
ghost grey full.
He is sentinel to
fake scatter-stars and those curling.
He is the silent, breath-shimmer shape
of both. 


C. LJ Ireton, 2025

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