You Sent Sunflowers


Those midnight searches
for slugs, my torch to spot and swat
most away, yet leaving some

on the single exenterated stalk
clearly and cleanly loved to its diminishing:
this utilitarian reserve

that saved remaining and
tall ones with buds ready to open as suns.
You had sent

Vanilla Ice, opened as a
bouquet florists would collate into occasions.
And you sent

Sungold, the iconic one
we stopped to watch in French fields years
ago. You sent

Red Sun, its darkness
radiant as a burst of beauty’s randomness.
Also – surprise extra – you sent

Teddy Bear, a fluff-ball of yellow,
and that’s the inventory of Helianthus done.
So I sent you

pictures of them all in a row,
their constellation against a backdrop of green
where you once played,

and tonight’s searches
will be more of this routine for sending back
as far as the continuing.


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