A milkweed puff hopped in the driver’s seat with me today
And hovered in the round of my open palm,
Giddy and mischievous and so transparent –
A momentary pause, really,
Before flitting to hide, enjoying the ride
Of my Kia’s air conditioning.
I know I’m anthropomorphizing, but maybe not,
She hid and I sought.
I knew she was holding her breath,
And I knew she knew I would open the door
And step outside and hang my head low to the floorboards,
Looking for her and holding my breath too.
I felt her then behind me, hovering eye level in the still February sky,
Daring and happy and alive,
Observing me observing her.
My inhale might have drawn her close,
But our dance was done:
“Namaste, soft, little, sensitive thing.”
Me to her, and <oh, my heart!> she to me.