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.