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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