I steal
deep into space, in the far field-
inches are miles these days
and miles can hold worlds.
I kick
imaginary balls into empty posts
and run tracks that dig circles
around the turns I cannot take.
The eye spots
white specs, like snowflakes, dancing
on the far side of deep ditches-
daisies making their own chains
while
les dents de lion
cast their own wishes out
into a breeze that knows no boundary.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Poems, Poetry, Poets
Some lays of the Fianna, translated from the Irish by Annraoi de Paor with illustrations by Tim Halpin
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Author of 'Unmuted', 'Saudade' and 'Psychopathogen'
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Damien B. Donnelly 
If like me you don’t know French, I found an hilarious blog-post about the French words for dandelion, dent-de-lion or pissenlit at: https://francesays.com/2019/04/23/dents-de-lion/ 🙂
Such a giggle! I’m sticking with the lion’s teeth as opposed to the other, more messy option 🤔🤭🤣😂😅
That first stanza is such a perfect description of the way time feels now. (K)