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