Taraxacum Invocation

by Emily Drouillard

the moon is so bright it is
unbearable to look at.
gaze descends to
fractured halves-
nails press into damp,
salty skin, praying:
maybe the water will
an ocean away from,
where the reflection of the moon
isn’t so hard to see.
orion’s belt will cinch together
tufts of isolation and
flora harvested by
shaky fingers decalibrated,
recalibrated, grasping the void
that sprouted like dandelions.
tended and tendered
into a glabrous garden.
breathe in pacific oxygen and
exhale taraxacum invocation.