In my dreams, I find the marigold field.

Orange and yellow flowers blossom infinitely far across the earth. Rising to kiss the horizon. Sky blushes yellow orange at the softness of their touch. The heavens are fluid. Sun melts behind sheer wisps of clouds. Gentle Wind cools my skin. Faint smiles. The pleasant fragrance of the flowers. My body feels light.

It is always September here. Summer, languishing its last breath. Autumn, eclipsing her edges. The green and the gold of leaves. The warmth and the cool of the breeze. My feet are bare. Damp earth cold on my skin. Marigolds graze my legs. Swaying against my skirts and my skin. Tensionless.

I am beautiful here. Sun, drawing out the red gold of my hair. Cheeks flush. Eyes, clear. Bright. Freckled arms. Full lips. I do not know tiredness.

Time is not the same. It’s slower. Richer. A minute or an hour or a year. It’s all as one. I’ve stopped keeping count. Been here many times before. Hard to say if I’ve ever left. Here, I’ve always been alone.

I wonder if I’m on the outside of everything.

My throat is sticking—tongue dry from thirst. All these flowers, not a drop of water. How do they bloom?

Sun,

      drips,

            drips,

                  drips.

Sometimes, I think I see myself. Younger versions scattered like seeds among the marigold stems. I never get close enough to breathe her (our) scent. Are we one in the same? Do we dream across time?

My toes have frozen in the cold dirt. I do not want to wake up. Here live the marigolds, here lives the respite.

The veins in my neck flutter. Like dying Sun, swimming beneath the horizon. There is a certain musicality in every rushing pulse

                        beat

                              thud.

The flowers kiss Sky.

And Sky melts.

My eyes water (so thirsty). The orange and gold are no longer a blaze of marigold blossoms, but marigold flames.

And the field is on fire.

I am enchanted.

Stems burn, petals roast, smoke fills Sky.

It is all so

                  Bright.

My body is weightless. Fire consumes all that is around me. My feet are frozen in the dirt. It is warm and pleasant here. Gentle Wind, laced with Smoke, caresses my face. I think I smile.

This must be right. Yes, the field is on fire. But Sun still sets. Ever so slowly, black and purples creep behind the orange. I have yet to see Night.

I know Night spans forever. If I were just a little closer, I could finally taste her.

Honey blue flames lick my feet. Eat at my skirts. Turn my skin to dust.

Sun, beautiful. Gentle.

I have always found comfort here.

There must be some good. There must be some hope.

Sun dips, my eyes melt, hair set equally ablaze.

I am a marigold.

                  In my dreams

                        I see Sun fall

                              Night pushing her down

                              As darkness reigns

                              (She told me she was beautiful)

                                          And I find the blackened match,

                                                      In my own ashen hands.