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.