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 will easily 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;

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