Doris Lynch

In Praise of Sunflowers

Tall. Yellow heads drooping. Their black seeds – hundreds of them – could be honeybees resting. They draw hungry birds near. Did I say tall? Elegant. Flowers that bow, even dance in the pre-storm wind. In its relentless reach for the ground, the tallest one rests its heads on my shoulder.

Sometimes they grow in a group, a bobbing sisterhood. Under the crystalline sky that late summer brings, they look best when the sun sets, as that piercing final ray gives them a roseate hue. They reach toward the stars, toward those other heavens of night.

into the duff
fireflies sink
harvest moon