let's say begin me the you way
does
           open

more slightly
the closed fist of my petals,

than opens me the light fingers
of in may Spring. than

the rain does,
in autumn when
dies the trees to neatly wonderful,

(and i come into their black bodies
the sliver of my mute flesh;
stopping on brief immutable desolation
my awe to wander enormously)

the dew is fast and quietly begins me
when: like that you

are like you are

like my to unfist (and with bright colours
)pollen

                gold, suddenly,


                           forever