sun-starved flowers sit on the windowsill,
yellow daffodils wilt. petals litter
the turntable—balanced precariously beneath,
needle tilted and askew. a record spinning out of tune.

repeat. repeat the same refrain, a lyric
trapped and contained within a cage.
a melody at once profound, but it’s grown
harder to find the harmony now.

breathe in the decay, a forgotten bouquet
left alone and in the shade. a gift
better left behind, “the patient, cut-flower sound
of a man who’s waiting to die.”