I’ve never known peace before,
but I can see it;
On the dandelion hill,
where the ground is not green but yellow,
outweighing their destiny to be weeded and trashed,
like coarse hair on woman skin,
the uneaten yolk of an egg,
perfume that smells good,
but is far too cheap to use,
far too familiar to be beautiful.

​

The sea is rough beneath the beautiful yellow,
where white wishes float and dreams sink,
where whispers in our ears can never be words,
where little girls waft for the surface,
tethered by and anchor that drags them down,
into the dark blue bottom of it all.

​

No one is a match for the sea,
Not even dandy lions,
dominators with teeth that kill,
and untamable hair that can’t be cut, and so
I’d like to be somewhere else,
where I can live peacefully and die peacefully too,
where my white soul can drift off into the wind,
by choice and not,
by somebody else’s breath.