somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence.

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if it be your wish to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly as the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries rendering death and forever with each breathing