walking out the gym into new spring,
hiding there in plain site

breathe, my friend

the dandelions running rampant through the grass
aren’t the spirit of your best friend
who committed suicide back in february

don’t think about it too much

they’re still pretty
like long eyelashes, sundresses,
the brutal city

if it were my friend
he’d probably appear on a less overcast day

-

when’s the last time you plucked a dandelion
and popped the top off with your thumb?

or squashed a bug?
killed something small with childlike wonder—

almost like he always knew
life was short