blood-twig dogwoods
howl at the blue moon
while hollow-eyed susans
dance on chinook winds

pale purple monkshood
death-rite prayer chants
are swallowed whole by
yellow-throat daylily laughter

the good-news sunflower
tries to misremember the
night-shaded moonflowers that
bind her gospel to the earth

morning glory intentions
are not what they seem
hearalded by down-turned
white-truth angel trumpets