dandelion puff

she laughs, i smear paint on clean canvas and the sun holds us in its secret.

inside, men with babies. outside, mamas with art, and we make the world smooth with our brushes and colors and smear-strokes of thick

and we fall for the brush.

its romance and calm.



we fall for it like my baby falls for his favorite towel, growling and lion-pouncing, rubbing face fuzzy, and the leaves umbrella above, green
silhouettes like fairies dancing

and i paint girl blowing dandelion-puff, seeding out, like worries white on air



she, mama to three, talks of belly dancing and bible and baking bread and eating balanced and our brushes pray deep,

wisdom please, maker of green-leaf.

and i tell him, when friend leaves in red van, i tell husband, this is heaven: this place on grass with canvas and brush and sun.

and he looks wounded, for a second, for he's not in that place, but i kiss the air, send it flying to his lips and assure him, you are my heaven too.

and we eat steak and drink wine and baby chews grass and i breathe in kingdom-come.