Isn't it funny,
that walking through a
sun-stained, dripping golden
heat garden full of
green and green and green and
pops of
viridian veins
bursting in quiet,
outstretching desire to
feel the warmth of fire of the
closest, neighbor star
that

I find
myself
more lonely
more confused and
for lack of understanding,
hopelessly wondering
what it is, next to
flowers, I am supposed
to do?

Flowers live and drink the sun and God,
to be a flower too.