Sunflowers After Hours

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I walk in the tall stalks,
sharp against my toes
I refuse to cover
until summer takes its last
breath.
A low buzz of bees
each burst of yellow bright
against an azure sky turning pink
as the sun reaches
the top of the barn.
The spiraled sequence
in each brown head tells a story
of survival; a thousand small flowers
living alongside another.
I stop at a heavy face,
stem bent low, petals dry,
ready to drop seeds
into the dusted ground.
Even in death
reaching for life.