Walking through a field
Paintbrush strokes of green and brown tickle my legs
Little flowers look up at me
You face in each one
Breeze ruffles my hair, like an older brother
The sun greets me, asks how my morning has been
"It's been going pretty well"
Finding a good spot i kneel, and start picking flowers
It's like reaching into the image of a kaleidoscope
Your face in each petal, each leaf and stem
One to put behind my ear
The other in my breast pocket
The other in my mouth, like a flamboyant Huck Finn
Cross legged
Indian style, they used to tell me
Though I'm sure they've never been to a reservation, to to the river ganges
It's a good morning
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