The Rose

3/14/09

The rose will die,
The play forgotten,
We will breath the spiced aromatics
Surfing over the gentle
Swells of the blossom
Like sand and foam at seashore,
Themselves in transition.

The evening will end
Arm in arm,
Body in body or alone.
The yellow fluted crystal
Directs its perfume upward
To be a permanent memory
Or dissipating
Into never