Sometimes the universe
plucks a dandelion
— whhhhhhooshhh! —
abruptly puffs a thousand fluffs
in a burst of diaphanous wonder
(super)natural as anything
right at your cheek.
tickled more by the sense
than the sight:
There are too many silken starbursts to behold,
each a seed, a vector
of countless more life-force explosions
engineered to travel light as joy
on the cosmic breeze.
They swirl out to find their places
and take root,
destined to decorate, wrought to reshape
the face of your Earth
like a garden party
with no curfew
and no fence.
Too borderless for comprehension.
Now that the limitless caught your attention,
you take in what you can.
The universe laughs
like the rustle of leaves on a tree —
far overhead but still close enough
to be unmistaken.
No need to make a wish,
Magic is already
what I do next.
So you suspend your disbelief
dandelion-like on the air,
understanding that all the heavens want
is for you to
let yourself be light
(like all those downy filaments