Ozark flowers coat the roadside with a quiet bloom

   of blue and violet. The yellow bursts find room

between the grasses, grab at rays of falling light.

   I look out driving home and ponder how despite

rain and grazing deer lives their resilience, their denial

   of removal. Blossoms last till morning, bring a smile,

show me how much I need stems cracking slabs

   of concrete, springstruck life. Parked, I pick scabs

off my arm and picture our survival. How flowers

   here resemble folks so beautiful they cannot

help but dance alone in quiet rooms. Who sway

   together, knit a field nobody else can scythe.

Night swells, but we don’t stop taking shafts of

   deserved sun. We hold our brilliance in dim hours.