Bronze birds, yellow flowers

My sunflowers are half-sun, half-rust ring
unusual - the petals are starting
to drift
still beautiful, lone flyers
like the bronze wings above them
flying right over the sun - 
a clawed kite, haloed fork tail
stirring me from numb
wordlessness. 

I write of this flame that you might know 
the yellow flower, look up -
up, where prayers go,
riding briefly on birds of prey. 
That the hollow cold of not knowing
can fill, burn with just a flutter past the eye,
a kingfisher blur,
like orange sugar to a curious mind 
wandering in the shade. 

LJ Ireton, 2024