I heard the sound of my name
Drawn from the body of a scouring-rush.
Blooming from its frayed mouth
Was the head of a sunflower
With petals curling,
Slices of shade and dusty yellow.
A call played for my ears
A call that curved from the tip of each waving petal
Sung in a language without words.
Made by the trust of familiarity.
The neck of my mind's creation,
All the while blowing notes and tender characters.
Rustling within rows in a field of dance partners.
A symphony for one,
All played by the wind;
A hundred flutes and a sunflower trumpet.