sunflower field[1]

 

bring me a sunflower; I want it to grow

in my sunscorched seasalted homeland.

It will show all day to the blue sky mirror

the sadness of its sunward face.

 

shadows make for clarity, don’t they?

all things flow, and then dissolve

first into colour, then into music;

and then, and then, they disappear.

 

bring me the flower that yearns towards

the golden shimmer in the sky,

the breathing source of life itself;

bring me the sunflower, drunk with light.

 

Eugenio Montale

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