…are serenading me

In the aching arms of sorrow
memories
drift softly in
endlessly searching
for a place to fall

just as the sunflower seeds
I scattered
upon your grave
are now blooming
flowers of pain

their gentle faces flecked
with the gold
of the sun
from whom
they cannot look away

a speck of dust floats idly free
then hangs suspended
in the light
for minutes
in my imagination

the sunflowers are serenading me
and their voices linger
in my heart
as I am fading
slowly into night
© Ann Bagnall