I contributed my poem Tournesols (after Van Gogh's painting), which reads:
Flat, feathery disks large enough to cover a face--
something golden to hide behind.
A child’s idea of the sun, and every living thing beneath it
a radiance: a return to the center,
to the seed
By the end of the day the heads bow,
too heavy for their necks.
Painted in this light, from this angle, life could be cheerful
but la tristesse durera toujours
Pollen dusts the man’s cheeks
Pollen is caked in the folds of his crow’s feet