My yard of gold
and silver dandelions
seeds the neighbor’s
pristine lawn
and so I crawl
blossom to blossom
like a creaky baby
following crumbs.
I dig legs splayed
like the national panda
probe for the root
with the weeder
that sends the snap
to the wooden handle
pretend to hate
the jagged leaves
and hollow stems
the severed star
upon my palm.