I Remember Chrysanthemums

Orange fields thick with flowers stretched across the moon to your doorstep. Constant warm winds blew spicy petals into the atmosphere, spinning, floating, forever preserved in a museum of weightlessness. There I once observed you from a distance on your knees, singing loudly a song that couldn't be heard. Your fingers dug through rare dirt, copper and stone, bone and teeth, sand and flint, searching for some thing that disappeared long ago.