Somewhere I have never traveled, 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...
...or if your wish be to close me,
I and my life would shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully, everywhere descending.
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
with gratitude and love...
No comments:
Post a Comment