Sunflowers:

Some hand broke it free
this ridiculous head of a sunflower
its face of seeds like the eye
a gigantic musca domestica, common
unless in bloom, then anything but
the way the head turns, filled with majestic thoughts
as it stands guard, observes the sun’s passage
as well as any would-be Galilean astronomer.

I plan to bring it home,
crumple the face so that it resembles
a child
not having won its way;
scatter the seeds spilt in that act…wait
through the long lonely blight of winter
until the first tendrils push clear, sprout
straighter than the truth, the Merrick’s-head
larger than seems possible, ready to topple
given the right circumstance,
and the colour, the yellow…

no wonder Van Gogh cut off his ear…
some glories are so painful
they almost cannot be borne.