My light flickers in a golden sun
Turning like the clock in my deserted room
The sunlight has the nebulous sunflowers facing it and turning away
The bees and trees, I hope for Providence's blessing, will stay

Some there whilst barely present
Like some form of mysticism in this beaten shade
In this vast ecosystem that resembles a dream or diary written in the dark
Lay on the Galis of this forest, obscuring itself in the channel

The sunflowers hide or choose to prise themselves from the storm
Fluttering in azure breeze later on
Providing milk and honey to those clasping wasps
Admitting to nature that has tossed and desiccated them

It is a lust for life
That paints these scenic motions
Also sculpted the landscape where it occurs
That slips and slides with grace
Alongside the mystic river of consciousness