DANDELION WINE(for Zoe)

My youngest granddaughter is not yet two
but so full of joy she can’t contain herself,
skipping through a field of dandelions,
plucking one already gone to seed
then pursing her lips to puff the fluff
as if discovering a brand-new game.

It’s the same excitement for creatures—
for dogs and cats, for fish and birds—
like she’s done all of this before,
racing with arms outstretched,
channeling once more
the wonder of incarnation,
nipping invisible nectar again,
drunk on the wine of the moment.