In the dream I dig away endless fields of dandelions.
A voice asks who you'd be without them.
I picture a future where the weeds never were, where you marry and grow a son to love as I have.
I meet you there, a future never planted and you're taller than I imagined, stronger than your father, and you tell me not to worry, to make healing tea from forgotten flowers, to dance as the weightless pappus born to trust.
You say a single flower can set another hundred free.
I hold you in the middle of the golden lion's teeth, priest's crowns leaning with invisible winds, then I wake in your blue room, toy trains and cars scattered, your small hand in mine in the only field we know.