I’ve never gone a summer without seeing you.
Burrowing out of the skirts of the earth to peep
through sidewalk cracks, splintered mud, raised alongside
discarded straws and torn shoes to look at me
with ochre eyes.
Moon, sun, and stars; fluff, flower, and
scattered seeds. It occurs to me
that stretching away from the roots burrowed in the soil is
a lot like teenagerhood, a reaching of green stems and a yellow lion mane
shooting up in the direction of a distant sun
that none of us will ever reach.
Looking at you, I wonder why we need to,
when a thousand golden stars burn through every crack
and verdant patch of home down here.