View From My Window
A Poem For the Sunflower
The sunflower is in the garden. It is not a
hopeless Song. What fell from the sky was a seed
I caught in my hand, and gently I cradle it against my chest.
When the rain came in the garden house, I grew tall
and became a canopy. In the lasting sickness,
the shuddering of the cold and wind drew itself
to a tomb, where the watering wings of life
whispered sweet against the mahogany sky.
The swan flew close to the ground, and picked
a sunflower seed in its beak, and sang to it in
its warble voice, in the eve of the golden autumn
when winter fell short a number.
The sunflower rose from its laughing stalk in its
pure joy, and in the clouds of our cloudy vision,
I could see it as it floated happily by,
majestically, on its invisible wings.
-(c) July 27th, 2004
hopeless Song. What fell from the sky was a seed
I caught in my hand, and gently I cradle it against my chest.
When the rain came in the garden house, I grew tall
and became a canopy. In the lasting sickness,
the shuddering of the cold and wind drew itself
to a tomb, where the watering wings of life
whispered sweet against the mahogany sky.
The swan flew close to the ground, and picked
a sunflower seed in its beak, and sang to it in
its warble voice, in the eve of the golden autumn
when winter fell short a number.
The sunflower rose from its laughing stalk in its
pure joy, and in the clouds of our cloudy vision,
I could see it as it floated happily by,
majestically, on its invisible wings.
-(c) July 27th, 2004
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A Poem For the Sunflower
A Poem For the Sunflower
