(By Vern Crawford, October, 2013, edited March, 2018.)

This silky milkweed fluff,
With a tiny puff of air,
Becomes a weightless drifter:
It softly lofts above my hand.

Heeding Autumn’s cooler nights and frost,
We plush ourselves in fleece,
Our arms and backs and bellies
Softer now to tender, touchy fingers.

Quilted bathroom tissues
(The expensive ones at least)
Caress us, on tender eyelids and warm cheeks,
And kindly smooth the body clean.

I love my well-used feather pillow;
Its down receives my heavy head,
Cupping, cuddling, yielding,
Submerging me in soft sleep.

Loved ones’ knowing touch,
Plus caring words–in times of pain–
Can heal and comfort many hurts,
So very, very, very soft:  cumuli of love.