ROSE



Its simple knot of scarlet tithes unheeded,
but articulate, until it seems
the kernel of all space, its leaves extending
yet inward-looking rose-ness’ deep reflection;
calling to another introspective one:
“Look at me!” Hedge briar eglantine
that filled its empty heart: “Fill your heart, too!”
Drowsy, blousy rose (‘by any other name,’
Shakespeare vouches, “would smell as sweet’).
Furbelows (‘a rose is a rose is a rose’ –
Stein) “Look at me! My unprotected softness!
Look! My thorned security as well!”

The Damascene preview of the Paradisio.

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