Split dandelion, peeled down its silvery
stalk, split head eyeing two directions.
In one, I’m headed west in a Volvo
stationwagon held together by a filigree
of rust. In the other, I’m drowning
in the bath, pristine and lavender. Either way
the path rolls up behind me. I could
dazzle in the volts of the car battery.
I could rise, fragrant and redeemed.
A relief to know it’s always earlier
someplace else. Somewhere—dear lion,
dear crown, my dear sweet resting place--
the ruin I’ve made is in one piece.