I found this old picture I snapped last year
On the way to work, of sunflowers overgrown in some weeds
that needed a shear.
If only their yard was sheared, t’where you could see their home,
a small black pot, well kept, clean, needing shown,
I walked past them again today, alone.
I don’t remember if I saw them there,
as I stepped on past the patio of Mrs. Jones,
like walking through a field of bones,