Sit in a circle to study the dandelion leaf:
its history from the beginning, its processes,
how it could only be what it is, its inevitability.
Out behind the rocks they are beheading people
in the knowledge that this is all part of a grand design.
They place the heads on railings to demonstrate
the great surge forward into a world as it should be.
Meanwhile the dandelion strives to be more efficient ,
caring not for this freak side-show, these crazed men.
They were there beside the cave’s mouth,
under the hooves of the Mongol horde, at Malplaquet,
the tank tracks of Passchendaele, the gates of Dachau,
indeed there during the ice age and before the ice age,
well before these weirds invented anything, built anything
or did more than eating berries in forest trees.
Now Tarax on the screen of their laptops, scorched
by flares of Aleppo bombardments. Their meticulous
perfect parachutes whisking the world, finding their way.