praise to the dandelion

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praise to the dandelion

i too am a low thing, refusing. 

i too am a gentle summer light waking 

in the season of disbelief. Gentle to my brothers 

who spring up in my place once they are without me; 

my place is everywhere we seek. 

i, too, am a note in a chorus of rage 

reflecting the sun; we want nothing but 

our own selves. i am 

the living grace of bodies who find each other, 

despite. How many are our names.