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

She holds me with fierceness and fragility
her veneer like old paint on a utility door
so unsure with the internally rendered pain
of a thousand failing days

I will lightly sand those cruel  flakes
with smooth care expectant of improvement
and reset the broken hinges she has been
left to hang on, replacing the bolt and lock
so she has full control of who she lets pass

She holds me with fierceness and fragility
longing for alterations not altercations
different times of high hopes holding
within her wearing frame and in that space
you will find me with one ear open

Soothing the doubts of a hundred
internal put downs, that can no longer be

I smuggle
storm
rifle
and grief

yet
like a playful crow
I shelter in the glow of your skin

disarmed
by your warmth
I have laid down my weapons
conquered the storm
worded your sorrow

and fled from the fragility
of your brittle mind.