Maximillian Sunflowers

As for us, we bend and know the pull of sun,
the limits of our angled stems.
We understand the force of our seeds
                                                          toward earth,
and nod when your palms hold a baby's heavy head.
The force of tears, you say. Yes,
but we repeat ourselves—
                                          seeds, we say again,
and apologize for our groundward faces,
the wind's voice around us.
It makes you rest
                            on your own body, palms
to bending knees. It exhausts you, this wind,
but we are not exhausted.
                                        We drink deep. We lean.
Our faces sometimes touch.

Copyright © 2008 Brett DeFries All rights reserved
from Southern Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission