shadow

The sunflowers speak

From a fresh-water bucket
at the farmers' market
beam the sunflowers
nearly hopping up to me
in their heel-stomping
square-dance manner,
ragged skirts of yellow
shaking in the wind,
big brown eyes pointed
to their mother sun,
mimicking her fat round face
with their silly grin,
telling me to snap out of it,
grab a bunch, join the fun
of the hot summer moment.

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