in a room sits a man with a sunflower
there is nothing else in the room, he has
plenty of space to move around
but some days, it feels much smaller

he sits on the floor with his sunflower
and just watches it, his life is best
       when he just watches it
there is one window, always shining light
for the sunflower to follow,
       as sunflowers do

every so often, the man hides the sunflower
maybe he is bored, more likely scared
he puts it in the corner,
in the closet
       anything to keep it away from the sun
he will remove layers of his skin
so that he has something to cover the window
       anything to keep the light out of the room

his head buried in the ground
his eyes too red to read
       what would he read, anyway?
curled in a ball, he sleeps in the corner
       hiding

it takes time
but the sunflower       again
finds its way back to the center of the room
it begins to grow        again
it continues to follow the light
       as sunflowers do

sometimes he wakes up and notices,
and a smile breaks the crust on his lips
he sits with it, brushes the pedals       and cries
sometimes things are good
       sometimes he is okay with it
but we on the outside of the room
      we wait
until the light under the door disappears
until he       again       suffocates the sunflower with darkness
each time, the flower growing closer to death
       i don't know how to make him stop,
       but i wish the flower would just die