These mountain dandelions are different than the ones back home.
They make our fluffy yellow flowers look like house-cats. Not lions at all.
They’re yellow fringed and orange centered with green eyelashes all around.
Roar pollen into the wind. Through the leftover of million year pressure, they dig.
Root like pigs. Into the side of hard gray lichen coated ground.
They creep through grass and launch on eyes like prey.
Where they mindlessly graze.

Across the hazy miles that crown sleepy towns like haloes.

They grow low, heads stooped.
And warn us off to keep on walking.
Dandelion heads buried in green.
Still stalking.