The Speckled Black of the seeds
Bores into the still dark pools that lie
Head to head
A standoff,
Waiting to see who will turn away first

The dark holes that take in the
Bold golden diamonds; soft in their skins
The small triangles of the stomach
And the felt-y, hairy lime legs

A breeze drifts by,
We sway together,
The dark curls mixing with the translucent stubble.

Clear droplets plop down from the angry bubbles that fill the sky above.
Plop, plop, plop.
Streaking down the leaves, then stalk, then onto the ground where they fall
Mixing with the salty human that leaks from the murky irises
Onto the crumbled soil below.

The long brown legs, sturdy and powerful
Reluctantly draw themselves up from their unwilling owner
Who’s tears mix with the steady drizzle that pours from the sky above.
The worn feet carry her into the triangle of dryness,
While Inside,
Another storm, full of funnels and lightening strikes brews.

While the Sunflower Waits
In the Peaceful Downpour.