The Metaphysics of Flowers

Imagine this
I leave the lighthouse
empty, not a bird
in sight

you emerge from the rocks
as mist, with no body
or mind

last time you were an owl
crying over my window

I shapeshift into 5 blue
tulips in a big vase  
    a business I know well

I hear warnings
on the radio

the Atlantic moon
sheds its light on you
because the moon is no judge
but of course
    you mistake that
    for love

 I say: look
    news of me won’t come 
after this
    I am sick and 
I’m leaving the coast 
    to be blessed on the mountain
    where I was born
  you won’t be able to pull
my roots out of it 
  
but you did not come to listen 
you move into tempestuous
sweeps and whorls 
dancing like fish 
on the hook

you just want to be seen
    you know
I can’t dance, at least
    not in this form 

flowers stay still
but they are very psychic
how they lean to the sun
and know when to die  

flowers don’t force life to last
or cry what’s left unsaid.