Roaming amongst the farmers,
The urbanites, and
Everyone in between
Under the pitched windows
Hovering overhead.
Springing daises stop me dead,
But the trumpets keep me cruising
Toward the sunflower
At the end,
Poking its head
Amongst its brothers.

He comes with me to greet the Chippewa
That rushes past my feet.
I find a bench to rest,
Watching life fly by below the surface.
The wind whips a petal from the sunny
Dragging it to the water
Where it will kiss the banks
Ad infinitum.