I plant fifty black seeds
mourning the loss of an old life.
As they grow they fix their gaze
away from me toward the rising sun.
Casting long shadows in the garden,
each leaf is a dark heart on the earth.
Ladybugs nest in their buds
and gorge on aphids to disturb the blooms.
Yellow finches devour leaves inside-out
until only the green veins remain.
Strong gold lights up a blue sky
but the roots are easily disturbed.
When unable to draw minerals upward
they bend their necks in despair.
Each one grows taller than people
standing sentinel, heavy with generosity.
Such ripe heads dense with new life
to be pried apart seed by seed by seed by seed.
*𐓨𐓣𐓰𐓪𐓟𐓧𐓣 (mi-to-e-li) is Osage for sunflower, or “like the sun, but not”
