When the tears have stopped,

if only momentarily, and

the cling wrap of your sadness stretches

Just so that

You can feel the reach of your ribs on

the flight of your breath,

pick up your dandelion grief

and make a wish, or

if that’s out of question

Hold it into the wind and count

the stitches on your heart,

slowly, and as if you didn’t

know they were numbered.