Sun's Flower Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

More than sunflower,
its rays never
landing in my dim couch's night,

the sun digs
into my inner bowl
to scoop out
a ray for dusk

and early dawn
and midnight's soot
from a deep cave.

Spinning
the eclipse
that has taken
over light

when no ray
is flipped out
from my inner bowl.

More than the eye
of hydrangea
and dandelion,

their hue drawing
a buzzing bee,

the sun stretches
its wings
into my living room,

while flowers beam
and wither
with their wings

tumbling onto earth's floor,
a regolith's edge.

(iii)

More than a ray
on a shade
and the night shore
of a star-bodied
coneflower

and a creamy
and moony daisy
all wax of day
and moon-lit night,

the sun in my head
flips out the only
flower of light to toss

a knot to land
on glass untying its loops
and the self-cleaving
curve swallowing another,

the sun scribbles
and shoot squiggles
on my center table,

a sun-lit flower
bathes alone in its shower
of beams,

withering when sun shuts
its lynx and eagle eyes,
leaving a flower

to dim into night's soot,
when the one-eyed
soldier drops
with all his sun

fleeing back
into its sky's nest.

More than a volcano's
gaudy flower
of fire and flames all green
and emerald hue,

the sun withers,
but spits out
flame and fire,

the engine
grinding a flower's night
into the light
that stands it on its roots.