Inside and out

I swear the curtains
will
someday take wing
and sail the windows
to the moon.

Light passing
through cotton
like water through
a sieve.

And don’t you
love the time
before the man comes
to behead the Dandelions
with his belching
roaring
tidy-up machine?

When the grass is long?
When the day is long?
When the wind blows?