Thursday, 24 September 2020

the sunflower

 the sunflower

 

if i said sunflower

might you say vangough or

describe at length the fields at sunset

the ones that sell calendars

 

turn your head with the sun

raise this late september garden

when the sedum sighs in the downing

 

look me in the eye sunflower bach

turn this burning summer into

a quilt of gold

the days of a child’s sherbet

 

ah - but then   then

 

the spondylitic bending of the year

under the weight of leaves turning

your necks to nothing that harvest

can endure under this winter cloud

 

oh my dried bag of seeds

lie long in the just-asleep

keep your pocket of sunshine

fingered until next summer

 

oh dear god how it pains me

to see summer bent this way

the snow and the lowing

of a dream asleep in a yellow bed

 

my dear compound-eyed friend

i await your return

to your promise i will

says me too

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