Dandelion Season

Until the end of dandelion season,

they lay down low in wet grass

at mowing time, stems like white-skinned

underbellies, nearly covert to

whirling blades inches above.

At times unsuspected, they pop up,

rear ugly, when all seemed smooth

and finished and under control,

naked heads emptied of white

puff seeds sown by blade and wind, present

and future reminders of imperfections, faults.

Sublime maples nearby rise, juxtaposed,

roots gripping hard against weather,

leaves a summer shelter

against screaming midday sun, an autumnal

encore of reds, oranges, yellows.

Both weed and tree coexist, are parts

of the same puzzle, shards of the same

broken glass, until the

close of the season.