Hap - A September Song (revised)

The black dilation of the burdened
sunflowers, garners squirrels,
twitchy-high on the rich platters.

Straight of stalk was matched by surge
inch a day in summer: the quiet
bee grains moved, light as light,

now bend, as ball and chain, the stems
to the ransack, omega thieves' din,
leaf pelt and pith rip - like acorn rain;

like pitiable salmon, having spawned,
wavering thrash in mangy scale suits,
dancing the shallows with their epilogue.

If frisky gold opened on the bees and fire
manes flickered in the breeze, they went on
continuing, unchanging yellow sunflower,

and they were never strung like bows
to shoot, no spiders gauzed their prostration,
this autumn sky would bear down cruel,

those eyes sufficiently beamed and self-ruled
to never die: what heart stab if their leaves
never frayed, nor their poles strain seed down

in fall, inch a day.