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,...
Continue reading...