Dandelion of Creation

A fuzzy seed of a dandelion planet
drifts alone in space,
encountering only warm gasses
and cool dust, wrapping itself tightly
in their reluctant embrace, until it grows
heavy with the gravity of desire,
pulling celestial flotsam and jetsam into it.

From the depths of the newborn planet
springs the dandelion’s passion for life,
bursting into a ball of golden florets,
soon teeming with dancing creatures,
their many keratinous limbs arranged
like lions’ teeth.

The creatures breathe and grow
and spread and prosper and take,
until their writhing masses
overburden tender petals,
curling them into ashy wisps.

Desiccated, they detach, carrying
scurrying residents into the void.
The planet’s leafy appendages bend
backwards onto themselves, opening
to reveal a sea of swaying tufts.

Freed of its weighty burdens,
 the dandelion planet sighs, dispersing its
  tufted seeds, which catch gentle solar winds
   and glide into the endless land devoid of matter
    but full of promise, searching for new worlds.