Black-eyed Susans bask in late afternoon steam of a dog day summer afternoon. Petal rays reach for and mirror the the sun and its form.
Tell me the difference between a flower and stone.
Will one change while the other remains?
Which speeds through life,
which moves through centuries?
Even withering to seed, the flower is reborn.
The sun feeds, burns, casts shadows on it.
I touch the flower
with the hand that shields my eyes from blindness
Both of us outstretched
catch and contain the rain, heat
Our form, our impulse satisfies us.
While the flower wakes and the seed sleeps
These will be our days.
Poem, photographs and drawing by Paula McLean
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