Wednesday’s Flowers

From the low well in the center I arise, ashened forehead marked in awareness of every short-coming, immense imperfection driven to the heart by fist and exclamation: Through my own fault, Through my own fault, Through my own fault… And turning, face a thousand fellow pilgrims similarly signed in soot gathered in the uncompromising sun, a hillside of bright black-eyed faces, a witness of blooms touched by golden light, Rudbekia fulgida – literally, Shining returners.