Thursday, August 30, 2007

To a Sunflower on her Birthday (For Fastie Murphry)


I miss the loose-stemmed wild flowers;
heads bobbing and bowing in the breeze.
Here in the tropics,
heavy stemmed faces sharp as scythes
stare out of the green.
I miss the humility of a thousand twin faces
coloring a hillside—I miss
the anonymity of blending
I’m tired of being seen,
of knowing the loneliness
of a flimsy imposter
except for these moments
when the sunflower in you
meets my gaze
with seeds spilling between us.

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