Someone stands with outstretched arms in front of a field of sunflowers, true or false. The sunflowers follow the sun, fixated, paying no attention to the observer. Meanwhile, the moonlight pours into a room.


My arms,

Deconstructed lines,

Open to the rolling fields,

A heated assurance,

Lost in summer’s appeal

The crows caw,

Thickening calls hanging as mist;

The answers we cannot


Dense yellow in the depths,

Sunflower eyes

Tilted to a lazy setting star

Inside, the moon trails

Crescented, slim; I can

Pretend tonight has a

Curtained orbit, circling

Luminous line

For those who cannot resist



Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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