• salllllllllllllllllllam

      a breif poetry

      somehwere 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 skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

      or if your wish be to close 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 colour of its countries,
      rendering death and forever with each breathing

      (i do not know what it is about you that closes
      and opens;only something in me understands
      the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
      nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands