The Mag 169 - Down East

                                                                                                                 Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth 

Down East

On golden May dandelion days

we joked about spinning gold.

We’d be millionaires, you said,

if all those flowers could be spun.

Instead, we made wine.

Dandelion dreams took you far

but I am like a bumblebee,

content to ramble o’er our hill

nuzzling clover and comfrey

instead of flying up and away.

I walked down the field today,

nudged the blooms aside and sat,

craning about like Christina and

willing you to bring the wine jug.

Instead, I talked to the bees.

The sun continues shining.

The clouds pass over all.

The waves beat on incessantly.

Our home is just as cozy.

I miss you, dear friend.

Turn your back on golden neon,

towers and streets all straight.

Soar back with the gulls

from the city garbage heap.

Come at spectacular sunset.

Come when dandelions nod.

We’ll lie on the hill and

blow wishes to the heavens.

plant seeds among the stars

and sip our wine together.