Revisionist Poetry – “The Lantern in the Field” – Downward Glance, v.2

In a sea of small suns that all turn east,
one head tilts — a slow, private question.
Its stem is a thin column of green, knuckled by wind;
petals peel like paper, the disk a slow ember.

I step closer. Light — not loud, but kept —
moves through the hollow between petals,
and for a moment the field becomes a gathered audience;
my shadow leans in, the air smells of pollen and dirt.

Alone in that crowded gathering, it holds a steady flame:
not a blazing altar, but a lantern in a window,
a stubborn smallness that will not go out.
I keep the shape of it inside me: a private map of hope.