WILD SUNFLOWER

Come autumn, this wild sunflower’s head

will be severed,

someone passing by

suddenly recalling in the early dusk

her face melding

with the sunset’s golden smoke

the whole boundless summer.

What passage then? What crossed horizons of buckwheat blooms?

Old tales drowned in grief

for which once more I perish.

Unreal wild sunflower. Unreal

voice, singing.

Autumn wind the poison thorn stabbing in my chest.