If I  had  a  favorite  flower  it  would  surely  be  the
dandelion which moves across the tissues of  the  bleeding
earth, filling the crevices  in  the  concrete  wastelands
with green softness. 
                     We can depend upon it to flower  even
as the earth melts under our feet, even as our world silts
into the sea.  
              I will last less time than even these  raven
hatchlings, mindlessly asking  for  food,  food  and  more
food, because I've  already  stopped  growing,  because  I
already know all I will ever  know,  because  I  delineate
myself to concrete paths. 
                          These big-eyed babies,  awkward,
rank and stupid will lift in the air simple as  flecks  of
dandelion down while I sink  in  the  crumbling  waves  of
rock.