Sunflower Eclipse

Autumn breezes raked

the ephemeral essence

of withering verdure

across barren dirt

where the balance

of unspent years

laid witness to

the change

of seasons.

Winter would soon

drape the decaying

in ivory sheets of snow

to be stained

with mire

&

swallowed in

hollow crevices

(carved by the hands of time

repeatedly striking the end of an era)

&

consumed

beneath the burden

of

six feet of soil.

Still.

Time marched on.

Summer scorched seeds sown

in the year’s morning

known as Spring.

Bermuda blades,

having just pierced

the earth’s healing wounds,

perished in the drought

while high-desert Fahrenheit

fueled unrelenting winds that

plucked

&

scattered

bouquets of

sun-bleached silk flowers

across a hillside

stitched in stones

&

dotted with decor

left

for the dearly departed

as though the season

(of grief)

was mocking her

in its tattering

of her

(favorite floral)

family.

She gathered each floret

while traversing

toward the cemetery’s egress.

Intricate, iron details

(married in metal

like honeysuckle vines

bound to a garden trellis)

spiraled upward to

an inscribed

passage of peace

that arched over

several young stalks

stretching toward heaven

as they flanked

the two gate posts,

separated

by twelve spires.

There, her umber heart

caught its likeness

in each crepuscular face

surrounded by

yellow-gold petals

as though crowned

with the sun.

She thought:

Like shadows slumber

pitch as night,

(sunflowers sleeping ’til first light)

eclipsed,

horizon’s

hide sun’s rays

behind the path

to morrow’s day

Hers was no uncommon journey,

many survivors

vanquished in the valley,

yet,

knowing that shadows

form in the presence

of illumination,

she found comfort

in realizing that

Light was following her

(like heliotropes track the Sun)

&

had gone before her

to shine on her, again,

once she had reoriented

in the darkness

to the dawn

of a new day.

Though still shrouded

in the umbra

of

the Shadow of Death,

the moment of solace

was etched upon her soul

as she turned her cheeks

(kissed with bereft bitterness)

toward the face of God

and drank

the amber hues

of hope

in full bloom.