The dandelion cracks
the gray concrete.
The thin-as-a-rail man
(I am that man)
whispers: gracias, arigato, merci
to the sun-drenched dandelion.
A goose-stepping hack observes
my happiness and
stomps the dandelion.
Yellow stains, invisible cuts,
invisible ink — the thin man
never could outrun the
skeletons. Solo una sombra
(only a shadow), I am more
than a ghost whispering
a prayer and a warning to
the next dandelion.