Diana Durham, a friend, sent out one of her poems recently. There is something in it that intrigues me. The image of the sunflower (many of these grow in Utah). The call to focus. The abundance of the golden rays. Or maybe, just simply, the way that these flowers follow the sun during the day.
We call them sunflowers
their rayed petals
tattering out
like gold thoughtless flames
their slow turning heads
follow the sun’s arc
across the day
armies of intense dark eyes
fixed upon their Mother
for it is not the golden rays
that blind us
if we stare too long
but the arcane
open pupil
focused, full-beamed
ridged, textured, thick
with seed.

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