Of a flower

They’ve opened their eyes to the sun,
these eternal sacrifices to summer,
the time of day seared into the folds
of their unfazed sun-bathed petals.
Dance, sing the pistols and stamens,
an open invitation to the wind’s caress.
Come, calls the sweet dusting of pollen,
anxious to be off coloring the world.
And yet, these splashes of perfection,
passive and quiet, these open hearts
pulled along by the feet of shadows,
are never enough to break our stride,
quickly lost in the melody of the day
like the first kiss of a passing rain,
seen and unseen in the same breath.



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