Only the wind grows dandelions
And sows the empty air
Careless gardener that he is
He plants them everywhere
Like philosophers or poets
Who fill an aching need;
A bit of wildflower they would sow;
A fleeting feather seed
Only the moon moves oceans
Brine upon the beach
Tides, a curious notion;
Love too deep to reach
Only an owl asks questions
After the fleeting light
If wisdom is confession
Dreams are born at night
Only a tiny floating seed
Awash in tides of wind
Searching for something; always in need
Like hearts of curious men
