I was standing on the stairs
in the middle of the night,
the wind was filled with silver
the moon was out of sight.
And maybe I was waiting
but I knew you wouldn’t come,
the night was soft as ashes
that a moth leaves on your thumb.
My birthday travelled through me
like a thread goes through a bead,
when it frayed and parted
I floated like a seed.
I was standing on the stairs
in the middle of the night,
the dandelions were yellow
the dandelions were white.
And are you really lucky
and are you really hexed
and how does love distract you
from one moment to the next?
I waited all the morning
and all the afternoon,
my flower it is the dandelion
my window is the moon.