Contemplating Sunflowers after Death

Sunflowers like smiling balloons, round and robust, sounds of the stem bobbing like a string tied not to the past but to the soons. Lost before noon, the duct let out one final tear. Now she is nearer to God than me. Like a sheepdog, I guard my Dad. Sunflowers, weaved into a frame, deluded in happiness while we pass. Petals pull at the heart, switching moods between Winter and Spring. His tears fill up palm lake, pulsing of his broken heart. All delusions fall off the cliff. Reality of life without her, within. Sunflowers’ dark brown centers, the grief stricken eyes, tarred and feathered. Childlike questions, those eyes open wide… So pretty purple urn; claustrophobic words can’t contain the expression of who she is-was. Ashes in eyes and hearts of contemporary ascendants. Sunflowers’ reflections, so alive, slowly dying. We watch ourselves fading. The funeral parading before us, bypassing us.