I picked the fluff of a milkweed pod
and held the seeds tightly in my hands.
Whispering to them my deepest wish,
I blew them from my cupped hand.
The two feathery white clumps,
like spun candy,
sailed in two directions.
One clump landed on the pavement.
The other, high in a tree.
Neither able to seed.
Perhaps the wind might blow them
into the grass.
Or perhaps they’ll stay,
growing stale and brittle.
Either way, there will bloom anew
in seasons to come.