I sit here among the windmills
Absently weaving wildflowers
       In
         Out
           Pull
             Repeat
My fingers shake and I break
A fine green stem
The downy white head pops off like a cork
And its orphaned body lays prone in the palm of my hand
And I wonder
Is it still a daisy without its head?

       In
         Out
           Pull
             Repeat

I sit here among the windmills
The sun watching over me
His rays paint-brushing
Shades of bubblegum pink into the milky skin of my bare bent back
I think of the moon
How tender strokes would soon give way to needles
Dancing under blood-red skin
And I wonder
If maybe it should have been called moonburn instead?

       In
         Out
           Pull
             Repeat

I sit here among the windmills
Thinking of the God I don't believe in
Guiding my hand as I scrawl
Senseless words across my mind
Pulling daisies from the ground
And looping stems into crowns
I cry for the loss
As I come full-circle
And I wonder
What now?

       In
         Out
            Pull

I stand here among the windmills
Pushing daisies with my dirt stained toes
Naked and free
Barring the crown on my head
And the years etched across my face.

       In
 
I sleep here among the windmills
In a bed made of my own carnage
Silver hair waving back in farewell
And I realize
I'll never be burned by the moon again.

       Out -