Monday, April 20, 2009

an Other Daffodil Disassembling in Tune

Sunflowers hold the seeds of stars
on the tip of their heart's tongue,
or in the wake of the wind's repose,
and only the flutter-by knows.

She dances endlessly through the flame.
Ablaze, yet she will not consume,
nor be consumed;
while her joy lives by candlelight inside her soul.

We will whither the petals to tealeaves.
Light's blood will be forced down our throats:
a desperate medicine,
a cure for our ignorance, unknown.

In her sleep, we'll pluck her perfect wings,
and blow at them, as if at the bare neck
attached to a dandelion's weary head.
Her body's parts will fall like rain

All over us

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