![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHaNXWjGWpk4CT39Jp2dgTcV_l9LUF1RsaGjZjMc7xv9MOu53mvReis3Zg4O5eomfchNXj3QxXUNRUuca6r6kkQPZ7q-rBFddFi9ew3XtyWDccS017p2nT656M6PFMktgzBmMSAQFsEA/s800/m-night.jpg)
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 open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish to be close to me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
e.e. cummings
how ironic! ee's popular this week!
ReplyDeletewhy ironic, I love such coincidences :-)
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