How beautiful is this garden?
How beautiful is this flower-lined path?
How beautiful is the air?
Just a few steps away lies
that place
Covered in a reddish-brown sludge
bumpy and rough
like the dried-up, broken-off pieces
on the red clay playground of my childhood—
trampled time and again—
Like lines drawn by tiny twigs
Through the cracks
Sending its seeds flying—
A single dandelion
Even if I never possessed them
One proud possession:
An unbreakable vitality
A single yellow dandelion
On rainy days
at sunset
even at a busy intersection in Manhattan
you quietly wave your hand—
you
Who says you’re pitiful?
Who says you’re unhappy?
Who finds you a nuisance?
I see you, mending the world’s unease.