Flower does steal hearts
but I wonder how the petals feel
wonder if they enjoy their lovely imprisonment
if they ever think of breaking free
when a flower dies it's all but humanly
does not laugh one day, still the other
does not walk down the road unsure of reaching home

death's patient like that
it too enjoys a good show before taking a shot
too likes to play before gulping down its food
first the sepals turn yellow
then mustard like sunlight through dusty glass
then the blush starts to fade
and petals begin to wither
like an old woman, her pretty face sleeping
blanketing them, the tired leaves curl up
waiting for wind to wash 'em away

I wonder if they actually die
if freedom's life, I wonder if they've just been born
I pluck a sunflower and I pull at it wings
I collect all and hand them to the wind
tell her to be gentle, she promises, relieved
I bid them a goodbye, they're too shocked to reply
so I watch as the wingless birds soar around the sky
yes, soon the wind will tire and let them fall
yes, they'll settle down and rot in the dirt or drown in sea
but they'd have rotten anyway

yes the last remnants of their existence
will depart with the gusts but they always did
so I tell the plant her babies are finally free
I don't see her smile, I don't need to
I never saw her cry for her flowers
quietly she'd let go, a little to serenely
as morning breeze took their corpses away

I never was a fan of flowers anyway--
I see them everywhere, in castles, in glass jars
in gardens and stone mansions, pressed in books,
taped on windows, tied in hair, ever so pretty, ever so.
washed and clothed and jewelled and caged
Someone shouts at me from the street
saying their kite just fell on my roof; if I could return
I take in their dusty profiles, and ragged clothes
faces lit by the splendid smiling suns--
I think my petals have settled down.