For Rudbeckia hirta, and after Sweet William’s Farewell to Black-eyed Susan, John Gay (1685–1732)
I see your hair in these golden petals,
your hip’s sway in curved dark leaves,
and your legs in their long blades.
I see your eyes in the pit of brown-black center
surrounded by stamens like wet eyelashes.
I hear your voice in the wind crying,
feel your prickly humor in this thin stem,
and taste your lips in the spicy-sweet scent.
I told you I’d come back, always, across
every angry ocean. You told me you’d wait,
always. And here we are.
Now, I am nothing but salt, remembering you
in a flower, tears against petals,
soft as your skin that last day.
