Ode to some yellow flowers

Rolling its blues against another blue,

the sea, and against the sky

some yellow flowers.

October is on its way.

And although

the sea may well be important, with its unfolding

myths, its purpose and its risings,

when the gold of a single

yellow plant

explodes

in the sand

your eyes

are bound

to the soil.

They flee the wide sea and its heavings.

We are dust and to dust return.

In the end we're

neither air, nor fire, nor water,

just

dirt,

neither more nor less, just dirt,

and maybe

some yellow flowers.