Dandelions
he looks for them,
scouring the fields all day in the spotlight of the sun
searching amidst the sun flowers and lawn weeds
careful not to step on them,
their bodies, flimsy noodles rooted in a crowded world
each clothed in simple beauty
he counts them,
he counts their pedals,
measures their heights,
compares their contrasts
all without picking them
he remembers the ones from before,
where they grew and lived
even when they turned to seeds and flew away
the field plotted with tags
a memorial and a birthing place
for memories gone and those still yet to be