Thursday, February 14, 2013
The petal of the first flower we loved
Invited us to come nearer and touch
Its iridescent flesh, waxy and grooved,
To breathe what it exhaled, but not too much.
In time we learned to pluck it up and pull
It apart to make rhymes or to annul
The vow implicit in adoration
Of what soon fades by adulteration.
My Dear Udnie, I remember well your
Arms folded, legs crossed, and insistent tongue,
Your offered throat, and your eyes, green and long,
But your exploded image I cannot restore.
You are, somewhere, no more a torn petal,
While I see scraps of paper and metal.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Turn over the road
and shove the wheel
beneath the void.
Make a deep breath.
Nothing and its time
can be destroyed.
Note: This poem, which came to me in a dream virtually complete, is not part of the ongoing, numbered sequence of "Brushstroke" poems. "Enso" is Japanese for "circle." A calligraphic enso is a symbol for enlightenment, strength, elegance, the universe, and the void.