in the wishing fields
dandelions grow
raising short yellow faces
to the sun
tall and white-crowned
in death
plucked at sunset
to be wished upon
with the first star's light

in the wishing fields
walk alone
surrounded by drying grass
and a single white-crowned dandelion
as the sun falls asleep
hesitate
who has the right
to make this final wish?
for what would one ask?

turn away
as the night wind silently takes the
parachuted dandelion seeds
last wish made by the breeze
with the first star's light

in the wishing fields
dandelions still grow
unplucked, unwished
for faith has no need of
parachuted dandelion seeds