Petals

Petals

You’re like the flower I hold,

And if I blow too hard,

in a harshness of breath

the gentle petals will fall away,

like remnant tears

streaming from a galaxy of emptiness.

And, I realize the petals are indeed falling,

some slipping between my fingers,

and in clarity I see a yellow round center mounted to a thin green stalk

lacking symmetry, wholeness and steadfastness.

I collect the petals,

counting twenty

as I survey the field of wildflowers on this Sunday Afternoon,

searching in vain for a flower with such fullness,

breathing a deep sigh,

you’re expectation heavy upon my heart,

the stars waiting for what seems

the eternity of our relief.

At the end of day,

the sun sets in peaceful reminder,

the petals collected in my palm

asleep for now, sleeping,

waiting for a sailing breeze

to be lifted and set free

in an easy, so long farewell.

- Mark Trubisky