heliotropic travelers
i.
moonflower breath
ripples the sun-
soaked stillness of
a buttercup lake.
daylily petals curl
up gold poppy hills
smearing like oil paint
under days of rain.
i had hoped for more
time to swirl apart
the many particles
of fear, panning for
rare, heavy gleams
of your love.
ii.
from the driftwood
of my body, a small boat
emerges, pushes itself
onto shore.
the boat yearns
to escape memories
of a face colliding with
a hand that twists into
a face turning away
a thousand times
as dawn unclenches
crimson-lined fists.
words rain upon
sunflower heads
whose petals swirl
closed, flicker
and go out.
planting my feet
in unknown soil,
I await propagation.
iii.
light in a clearing
where others gather
to protect the fire,
water the earth
with their stories,
sing roots to sleep.
someone comes,
hugs me, folds
shimmering seeds
into my hands.
before the next storm,
i stop grasping for
fool's gold. instead,
i hold my body close
to others who hold
space for me, lift
my face to make
wildflower nectar
in a field, gathering
sunlight.
