copper sunflower

I saw you blooming, defiant little sunflower,
beside cracked sidewalks and words written on brick walls
(and they were words of laughter and riddles about everything right and wrong in this world)

I saw the sun pour copper on your petal hair,
in the rosy warmth of summer afternoons and in the pale, frosty orange of winter dawn
(and it was a copper halo made of birdseed and the blue collected beyond plane windows)

I saw the storm passing by your grassy lane with force,
on days when nourishing spring rain on knowledge-thirsty coasts turned into a tempest driving ships to harbour homes
(and still you wrapped your roots and leaves and sorrow-frailed smile in origami sheets and let the wind push paper sails across storm floods, and mixing ash and honey pollen tears you painted them with heart-shaped freckles)

 

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