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 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 color 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 -E.E. Cummings-
Posted on: Sat, 08 Mar 2014 01:16:32 +0000
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