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,
If you liked this poem, here are some other similar poems: