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Why the Wildflowers Bloom

Across the drought-dried field, vultures perched

on hay bales, wings twitching with anticipation

as a road-trapped body took its last breath.


The wake was swift. Muscles to guts,

a legacy was devoured in mere hours.

As the final vestiges of life fluttered away

in matted tufts, blood trickled between veins

of concrete and pooled beneath a roadside sprout.


We’re here now, ignorant of the past,

watching a pack of coneflowers

bloom in unison. Their petals bowing

to the pavement, a gorgeous memorial

for everything we’ll never know.


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