Daffodils

Dalí’s Clock 3 & 4 /7

“Though lovers be lost, love shall not;
and Death shall have no Dominion.”

Dylan Thomas

Dalí’s Clock
3 & 4 / 7

3

When I look at my watch:

time flies off my wrist

and flaps its hands

helplessly.

I taste the bitterness of bile,

squeezing each moment,

between finger and thumb,

rolling it about

like a breadcrumb

or a shred of label

stripped from an empty

bottle.

4

How long can I sit here,

staring her down

as she flourishes

then fades,

her eyelids closing

at day’s end,

like flowers?

Daffodils gild

garden and hedgerow,

their yellow mouths

devouring April.

Sunshine so loud,

the hills and valleys

set ablaze.

Golden voices

raised in a floral

requiem.

Daffodils

Daffodils
Two poems for Wild Daffodil

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Daffodils 1
(for my mother)

Light in dark
bright yellow stridence
shrill golden dog’s bark
to warn off death’s wolves
that freeze her blood

she dreaded night’s unease
the devil’s wintry anti-spring
life’s darkest sparks

 but loved the daffodils’
sunny March cadence
of brief piercing dance

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Daffodils 2

For ten long days the daffodils
endured, bringing to vase and breakfast-
table stored up sunshine and the silky
softness of their golden gift.

Their scent grew stronger as they
gathered strength from the sugar
we placed in their water, but now
they have withered and their day’s done.

Dry and shriveled they stand paper-
thin and brown, crisp to the touch.
They hang their heads:
oncoming death weighs them down.