Eva Hämäläinen, Navigator
:::
Sombre we set forth
stomach of stone
eyes silent, to
a tapestry of marigolds.
Their light to shine
sweetness aglow
blooming
in that hollow place
where bitter turns iron
and anger, ice.
Golden fears of expectation
amiss, adrift
like petals on wind
where color brings hope
in the midst of death.
Who gathers these flowers?