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Sunflowers

 

My neighbor grows sunflowers on his balcony

He plants them late in Spring

to grow tall through the Summer

their stems unfurl the inflorescence like halos on a seraph

like words on cairned marble

like the sundress falling off her thighs

like the watermark from wet lips along her skin

a rush

the petals distend like arms embracing air

and suddenly the world is full

for a brief season

of love and joy

the quintessence of ecstatic rhapsody

I know it’s Winter, but I still see June

the blossoming

her instructing words like anniversary eyes

like artless lamentations

the cursory movement of a capering star

across a city eventide alone

wrapped in a glum, warm paletot

a rogue wave ignored in an endless ocean

The humidity sways the pockets between bodies

closing together to create unifying smells and fascinations

swelling

a short happiness before eventual parting

a season, but a season

so soft, a slow soft death

arriving much too quickly

My neighbor leaves his flowers on his balcony

as soon as cold arrives

he hides inside and lets time take its course

as it eventually must

the short hand of a clock, the turning of the screw

the weekly laundry day, a Winter’s wither

there will be others sure enough

new flowers, in old pots

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