October 19, 2026

Wind catches under the chin
and the skin stretched over scapula
prickles awake with the tickle and float
of milkweed seeds twisting from
crusted envelope and taking flight.

Rip me from my wrappings, my loves,
and fill me with sky. Send me up
to feel air stream cross my belly
and toss my aching heart to flutter
and waft, breeze-ruffled and bound

for fertile earth, perchance,
a planting by happenstance.