I rub my fingertips against the sunflower petals,
trying to extract their hue
that I might use it to paint my dark world
bright and golden.
The florets don’t share their color;
they maintain their vibrancy
and their contrast to the bland surroundings.
The pads of my fingers also remain the same–
bare of yellow–
only the skin-tone whorls and loops and arches
that existed long before my attempt at amelioration
can be seen.
And yet something in the murky cosmos,
though nearly imperceptible,
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