I can trap memories
like insects in matchboxes.
Huge thundering thoughts I’ve wrestled away
as if into canning jars
and watched them churn.
Rarely, an experience is too profound to contain,
or there is too much of it; it drifts
like a bright cloud of seeds through my head,
touching down in forgotten places,
or places too sad to tip-toe out to.
Then it grows behind my eyes like a weed
so that when I sleep
all I can see is you,
and when I try to reach out
I am left stood in a field of dandelions,
a million more than I could ever press.
Alexander James Allen
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dandelions-6/
