dandelion clock

by Ella Standage

held between forefinger and thumb: the stem
like a green vein, and balanced above—time
as an exploded diagram.

see the hours stellated, the minutes
anatomised as spokes of a wheel
that does not turn, struts to hold up
this whispered globe of wishes.

between fingernails you pluck one from its earth
the way you’d dissect a wristwatch, disassembling
chronology to examine like a gear beneath the light.

it’s 3:53 PM. time

flutters and pulses atop its vein and you
stop holding your breath and watch the seconds
carried off like a flood of stars, to lodge

in minds or throats or cracked pavements
like promises unspoken.