Saturday, January 21, 2006

In roses

I speak in roses.

Each
imperfect

a whole
more beautiful
than its parts
may suggest

dark leaves
concealing

silent thorns
that snag and prick
a negligent grasp

fractal petals
wrapped round
a perfumed
mystery

tight at their
blood red heart

no one knows
the full meaning
of any rose

least of all
me

each surprises
growing its own
strange way
hothouse
garden
or essential wild.

Listen.

I speak in roses.

Can you
hear them

yet?

4 comments:

C said...

Wow - this is delicious...mysterious and wonderful. I absolutely love it. Yum.

coyote said...

Glad you like it, Christa. Mysterious, yes. I was trying to get across something of the convolutions that can occur, even between two people who care, when they try to communicate with, and understand, each other. Folded rose petals seemed like an apt image, somehow, and it just went from there...

C said...

Sometimes you read something and it just strikes you immediately...this did it for me.

100hands said...

Arresting. Truly.